Lori Austin (3 page)

Four

Ella couldn’t sleep. The moon shone directly into her eyes through the open roof of the barn. Not that she’d have been able to sleep even if the moon had been new. She missed the children so badly she ached with it.

Three days had passed. Three days! She hadn’t believed Seth Torrance would last through one.

She’d crept over to the Elliot farm several times, careful to stay out of sight lest the children see her and cry. She didn’t want to upset them, but she had to be certain they weren’t hurt or worse. She had to make sure Torrance didn’t pack them up and take them away. If he did, she’d follow and she’d take them back any way she could.

Ella stroked the barrel of the shotgun, which she kept by her side always. A woman couldn’t be too careful.

As if in answer to that thought, footsteps dragged through the brush outside her resting place. Ella sat up slowly and, taking the gun with her, crept to one of the many holes in the side of the barn.

The moonlight revealed the waste that had once been the Fontaine homestead. The house had been burned to the ground soon after Chancellorsville, when Federal troops retreated willy-nilly across the state. Ella recalled watching it burn as her mother and her father mourned the loss of Stonewall Jackson in that very same battle. The great general had housed his headquarters at Winchester, and the townsfolk adored him. When he’d died after losing an arm, then succumbing to pneumonia, everyone had draped their windows in black for a month.

“The South has won a victory,” her father said, “but the loss of that one man may prove too great.”

He’d been right, but he hadn’t lived long enough to know that. Thank goodness. He’d joined the army soon after, and within the year, both he and Ella’s mother had followed General Jackson across the river to rest beneath the trees.

Their gravestones sprang from the ground behind the ruins of the house, a constant reminder of what Ella must never forget. They had died at the hands of the enemy, the same as her fiancé, Jamie McMurray, the same as Henry Elliot and countless others.

Perhaps even herself, if this heavy-footed intruder proved to be another foe. So far she’d been able to scare off the scum with the sight of her gun alone, but one day she’d probably have to shoot someone, and then she’d better kill him. She knew what happened to Southern girls when they crossed a Yankee these days. She’d rather die than be an enemy plaything.

Ella pressed her lips together and cocked her gun. A bird flushed from the trees, startling her. But she held steady on the trigger.

Unfortunately, the intruder shifted course and approached from the front of the barn. She heard the footsteps clearly, walking all the way around the structure, then advancing inside.

Ella held her breath. Maybe if she kept quiet, whoever it was would go away.

She waited, listening. No, the footsteps continued on—closer and closer. She carefully swung her gun away from the wall and aimed it at the top of the ladder that led to her home in the hay mow.

Sure enough, the ladder creaked. Her visitor started up.

A dark head appeared, the face one she knew. He saw the barrel of the gun pointed at his nose and froze.

“What do you want?” Ella demanded.

Seth Torrance scowled. “Do you greet everyone everywhere with that shotgun?”

“Only fool Yankees who walk through the woods like fat old mules.” She pointed the weapon at the nonexistent ceiling and uncocked the thing. “How on earth did y’all win the war tramping around like that? Any Reb boy would have heard you coming for miles.”

“I wasn’t
trying
to be quiet. I want to talk to you.”

The major pulled himself into the hay mow. In her tiny space, he seemed so much bigger than he had the other day. More dangerous; quite handsome.

Ella narrowed her eyes, annoyed with the thought and herself for having it. “You just stay over there,” she ordered. “I can hear you fine.”

He gave an impatient exhale. “You think I came over her to ravish you? I’ve got too much on my mind for nonsense.”

Nonsense? Ella wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. She was a bit insulted, and that was the most nonsensical thing she’d ever known.

“State your business, then.” Regardless of his words, she kept her gun handy.

“I’d like you to come back and take care of the children.”

She resisted the urge to smirk. Though he’d held out two days longer than she’d expected, in the end he’d behaved predictably. A man like him wasn’t going to stay here and care for five children.

As if she’d refused his request, the major hurried on. “They miss you. The little ones call your name. I should have realized how attached they’d be.” He shrugged and looked away. “I can’t bear to hear them cry.”

Knowing how loudly the girls wailed, Ella could imagine why.

Everything could go back to the way it had been before he’d arrived, which was just what she wanted. She’d still have the problem of making the farm profitable again. However, that was the same old problem—which she’d deal with another day.

“When are you leaving?” she asked.

“Pardon me?”

“You. Leaving. I’ll come back and take care of the children then.”

“Who said I was leaving?”

Some of Ella’s joy faded. “You can’t mean to stay.”

“I mean exactly that. At least for the next month. I’d like to hire you to take care of the children.”

“You want me to be a nanny?”

“And their governess, as well. I can tell by your speech you’ve been educated. The children need schooling. Can you do that?”

“I can, but I won’t.”

“Why not?” He peered through the holes in the barn, his gaze touching on the ashes that had once been her home, the gravestones, the empty barnyard, before coming back to her. “You have something pressing to do here?”

How ungentlemanly of him to refer to her reduced circumstances. But then, he wasn’t a gentleman. And he was right. She had to eat. Nevertheless, she tried one more time to convince him to go.

“Major, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of the children on my own. You can run back to wherever it is you call home. I’ll even write you a letter every month and tell you how they’re doing.”

“A letter would be lovely. Thank you.”

Her heart lifted with hope. Then he dashed it with his next words.

“But I won’t be needing one just yet. I plan to stay until I’m sure the children are settled and safe. Right now I need help. The children love you, and I thought you loved them.”

Ella winced. Trust a Yankee to hit at her weakest point.

He kept pushing. “I can pay you. Cash money. From what I hear, that’s slim in these parts.”

Another rude comment, though no less than the truth. Ella bit her lip. She could go back to the children, sleep in a bed, have a roof over her head and food in her belly, even get paid for the privilege. Or stay here and . . . Ella glanced around the dilapidated dwelling. She didn’t want to think about staying here.

Sooner or later the major would be called home to more important things. She’d be left with the children and his money. She could get the farm going again and keep them all together. Her reputation would be ruined, but she wasn’t using it anyway.

“All right, Major. I’ll come back for the children.” He smiled. She continued, “And the salary of fifty dollars a week.”

He stopped smiling. “But—but—that’s outrageous!”

“Isn’t it?”

Ella waited. She had him. After sending her away, he wouldn’t have come begging unless he had no choice. She could well imagine the kind of response he’d received if he’d asked for assistance in the town of Winchester.

“All right,” he conceded. “Fifty dollars it is.”

Ella turned away so he couldn’t see the triumph on her face. It appeared as if her years at Miss Duvray’s School for Girls were going to be worth something more than the memories.

The first battle was hers. Ella planned on winning the entire war.

Five

Ella was thrilled to be back. The children were thrilled to have her. But life on the Elliot farm was not the way it had been. With the major there, how could it be?

Still, her days were so full taking care of the children, and teaching them, too, that she barely noticed Seth Torrance at all. Barely.

He spent the first week fixing the inside of the house. He patched the bullet holes, painted over them, brought in pictures from Lord knew where and hung them over the places paint and patch did not help.

The second week he worked on the outside of the house as wagons pulled in and out, bringing furniture, beds, clothes, and linens. He’d even ordered a hand-carved crib for the baby. No more apple crate for her.

Each child now had several sets of clothing for everyday wear, plus shoes, stockings, undergarments, and hats, as well as an outfit for special occasions. They were overwhelmed.

So was Ella, who was treated to the same gifts. Though she should refuse them, she found she could not. Having worn the same dress, in rotation with one other, for nigh on to four years, she couldn’t keep her pride in place any longer. Wearing a garment that hadn’t been hacked off at the ankle to keep it from dragging along the ground, since she no longer possessed a crinoline, was too wonderful to turn up her nose at.

She’d known the major was wealthy—his horse, his clothes, his boots, and his manner had all pointed in that direction—but she hadn’t realized he was sinfully rich. To be able to order whatever he wanted and have it delivered wherever he chose on a whim seemed like magic.

The third week a heat wave descended. The baby developed an ill humor; Ella developed a headache. Several times each day she bathed Gaby with lukewarm milk and water, then sprinkled the heat-induced eruptions on her skin with rye flour. Nothing seemed to help until the middle of a very long night, when a cool breeze whispered in from the east.

Ella stepped onto the porch, Gaby in her arms. The baby gurgled with pleasure as the wind caressed her face. Even though she was in her nightdress and robe, Ella strolled to the lone apple tree at the far edge of a burned-out field.

There, beyond the remaining elms that shaded the house, the breeze blew strong and sure. The night was peaceful, until someone struck a match. The sharp snick, the sudden flare of light, the acrid scent startled her so much she gasped, whirled, and pointed the derringer she always kept in the pocket of her robe at the man who stepped from behind the apple tree. The flame touched the tip of a cigarette and illuminated a face she knew very well.

“Do you have to sneak up on me all the time?” she snapped, her heart thundering, and not just because the major had frightened her—again—but he wasn’t wearing any shirt. Ella had never seen a man’s chest before. She couldn’t stop herself from looking at it now.

A curling mat of dark hair began just below his collarbone, growing finer and lighter as it dusted from chest to belly, then disappeared. The skin of his arms was smooth, the muscles rippling with every move that he made. The Colts slung low on his hips only emphasized the ridges across his stomach and the leanness of his thighs. For a soft Yankee major, he appeared awfully hard.

“I didn’t sneak,” he said. She yanked her eyes from his muscles and back to his face. “I was here all the time.”

“Hmm,” was all she could manage with him standing there half naked.

He drew in a mouthful of smoke, then set it free. “Out of curiosity, how many guns do you have?”

She still pointed the derringer at his chest, so she put it away. “Enough.”

“For what?”

“To be safe.”

“I’m here now. You don’t need to worry.”

She snorted. “You’re one of the things I worry about.”

He frowned, but he didn’t argue. Instead he took another long pull on his cigarette, then gestured at the gnarled branches of the apple tree. “How did this survive?”

“I’m not sure. The damned Yankees—” she broke off, glanced at him, shrugged, and started over. “The soldiers spared the house but burned the fields. We’re still not sure why. But this tree survived, and it produces. We’ll have apples come fall. The resiliency of this land amazes me. When I think of all it’s seen, all it’s endured and yet it thrives, I’m stunned by the miracle.”

He was watching her closely. “You love it here.”

“Why wouldn’t I? This is my home. I’m part of the land and the land’s part of me. I never want to be anywhere else.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, echoing her, and continued to smoke as he contemplated the tree and the sky.

The night was enjoyable, the air between them cool and quiet—until Gaby lost her happy thought and began to cry. Exhausted, Ella nearly cried herself.

The major took one final draw on his cigarette, then ground the rest into oblivion with the heel of his boot before holding out his arms for the baby. “Hand the little creature over.”

“You’d better put on a shirt first.” Ella’s face heated. “Skin to skin, she’ll stick to you like a leech.”

He glanced down, surprise lighting his face, as if he’d forgotten he was waltzing around in the night half dressed. Perhaps that was what Yankees did, and they never thought twice about it.

“Excuse me.” He picked up the garment from the ground at the base of the apple tree and shoved his arms into the sleeves.

Gaby’s breath started to hitch, the sure sign of a coming explosion. Before Ella could object, or he could button his shirt, the major snatched the baby and settled her into the crook of his arm.

Ella tensed. Gaby did not appreciate being flung about like a sack of potatoes. Every time one of the children tried it, there was an eruption of sound and tears. Instead, she took a deep breath, let it out on a contented sigh and closed her eyes.

Ella blinked. “How did you do that?”

“What?”

“She went to sleep.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Shh, you’ll wake her.”

Effectively silenced, Ella had nothing to do but watch the baby sleep, which led to watching the major’s chest rise and fall.

Why did seeing him with his shirt open and unbuttoned entice her more than his bare skin had? Because now she knew what lay beneath the white cotton, and she could imagine it all night long.

Ella shook her head. What was the matter with her? He was a Yankee. The enemy. And he was leaving, just as soon as she could get rid of him.

However, the picture he made with Gaby in his arms tugged at her. The baby adored him. Whenever he came near, she laughed and waved her hands, kicked her feet. If she cried, only his arms could quiet her. It was infuriating. Sometimes Ella wanted to scream, she was so jealous. But she also had to wonder what the baby sensed in him that she did not.

“Come here,” he whispered.

Ella jumped. “What? Why?”

He tossed her a mildly annoyed glance. “Must you question everything? Come here and look.”

He tilted his arms, tipping the baby forward as if to show Ella something. Concerned, she came closer.

“Is that the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” he murmured.

Gaby’s sweetly bowed mouth puckered and released, puckered and released.

“You think she’s eating in her dreams?” he asked.

“Either that or kissing you.”

Their eyes met. His were so blue they reminded her of the sky on a sunny day, even in the dead of night. The air smelled of cool breezes and the fading tang of apples, at war with the scent of male heat and sultry smoke. What would he taste like if she put her lips on his, dipped her tongue inside, savored the warmth and the heat of him?

He would taste of ashes. The death of the South.

She had to remember that the demise of all she’d held dear had begun and ended with men just like him. He was forbidden, yet she wanted him just the same.

And because of that he had to go—or she did.

Ella whirled and headed for the house.