Counterfeit Courtship (10 page)

With all of them now in dry clothes and full of grits cooked in cream, she'd told Graham's cousins about her problem with Leonard—even the marriage part. If only she could discern the source of her unease...

She glanced at Graham, sitting next to her in the parlor and paging through a month-old copy of the
New Orleans Daily Crescent
. Even in Mister Cooper's too-large clothing, her pretend beau was as handsome as any man she'd ever seen. And he'd made sure Ellie had every comfort the Coopers could supply, living in their newly impoverished state in their white-columned mansion. He'd even walked Sugar in the rain so she could do her doggy duty in the yard, away from the house, and now had the dog at his feet. He'd certainly played the part of the attentive suitor.

Perhaps her unrest was due to the underlying tension of the loan. Or was it the loneliness of having a beau who was not in love with her?

That thought stung. After years of training herself to close off any sentiments or emotions about courting or men, had she come to that? Morose thoughts, melancholy words?

She'd have to take those thoughts captive if this courtship ruse was to work out. Of course, that would be easier to do if Graham wasn't so handsome. And she needed this courtship now more than ever, with Leonard determined to marry her.

Leonard. How could she not have seen what a scalawag he was? Sitting there with that smug grin on his face, listening to Joseph tell her they'd lose their plantation, their town house, their—

That nagging feeling pecked at her mind again. There was something else. Joseph had mentioned another property they would lose, but what?

“Graham, didn't Joseph list three properties at risk?”

“Magnolia Grove, the town house and the Louisiana–Texas Railroad.”

“That's it—the information I've been trying to remember all day. I'm sure Uncle Amos doesn't own a railroad.”

“He said it had been your father's.”

Father? At the mention of him, her mouth went dry. No, her father had certainly never had a railroad. Or anything else of value, for that matter. If he had, she and her mother would not have gone hungry as much as they had. And Mother wouldn't have been reduced to serving in the saloon beneath their rooms. “That's simply not true.”

Graham's eyes widened. “Joseph seemed quite sure. He wouldn't make a mistake about something so important.”

“Sure or not, it can't be true.”

Or could it? Could Father have somehow bought the railroad shortly before he died—without telling Ellie and her mother? She closed her eyes, searching her memory. How long had he been gone on his last binge? It had seemed like months, but she'd been so young, her judgment may have been off. And how much time had passed between his death and Mother's?

Of course, no one knew the exact date of his death...

At once she realized the room had grown silent during her musings. “Forgive me. I was gathering wool.”

Maria reached across the table and laid her hand on Ellie's. “Are you all right, dear? I know this has to be hard for you.”

“I admit it is. But I need to discover the truth. How could I have inherited a railroad without knowing it?”

“You were not of age when your parents passed,” Graham said in a soothing tone. “Since your uncle was your guardian, he no doubt took care of all the paperwork for you.”

“But I'm of age now, so why wouldn't I have inherited?”

Ambrose leaned back in his chair as if settling in for a long discussion. “Perhaps it's in your uncle's name until you marry.”

“And if I marry, who gets it?”

“I guess you do.” Graham hesitated. “But if you married Leonard, he would no doubt control it.”

“And benefit from the income, if there were any. But Sherman destroyed most of the South's rail lines. Our railroads are useless.”

“Not the Louisiana–Texas line.” Ambrose raised his gaze from the pipe he was filling with tobacco. “It's one of the few Sherman didn't get.”

“I still don't think Leonard would care about that. He must want our plantation and the house.”

“But his home is even grander than yours,” Graham said. “And the plantation—it's large with a nice home, but he's never been interested in planting. His father owned a few Pennsylvania textile mills, and he came to Natchez to become a cotton broker. Besides, Fitzwald could buy any confiscated plantation outright if he wanted to plant.”

“Textiles need to be shipped. Could his holdings have included railroads?”

Graham glanced toward the dining room door as if wishing his father would come back in and answer all their questions. “I've been away from Natchez too long to remember. Do you know, Ambrose?”

“No, but your father would, if he could tell us. He, Ellie's father, her uncle Amos and Robert Fitzwald were good friends in the early days.”

Good friends? Not that Ellie had ever seen. “I can't speak for the others, but Uncle Amos could barely tolerate being in the same room with Robert Fitzwald.”

Graham took a sip of his coffee. “I sure wish Father could give us some answers.”

“Uncle Amos couldn't help either. He doesn't remember many people from his past except Miss Ophelia.”

Ambrose laughed. “Nobody could forget Ophelia—apoplexy or not.”

True enough. “You might be right about Leonard wanting the railroad. And if he wants it badly enough, he could do about anything to get it.”

Graham set down his newspaper and took her hand. “Don't worry. I won't let him hurt you again.”

His eyes revealed a hint of the devotion she'd seen in them the night he proposed to her, and her breath caught. She held his gaze, the memory sharp and somehow painful. How many times had she forced herself to stop thinking about that look? But seeing it again now, in his eyes rather than in her memory, made it harder to bear as he once again silently revealed his heart.

Graham looked away, breaking the moment, and glanced at the mantle clock. “And as much as I would love to stay and visit, we need to get my father home.”

They all stood, and Maria touched his arm. “Couldn't you stay tonight? You could all get a good night's sleep, go to church with us and leave in the afternoon.”

“You're kind to ask, but we need to get the doctor for Father. Besides, he might come to himself in his own home. Ellie needs to check on her uncle too.”

All true, but Ellie also needed to get home and put distance between herself and that look in Graham's eyes. And so she could make sure Leonard Fitzwald kept his distance from everything that still belonged to her and her uncle.

Chapter Ten

T
his was not the homecoming Graham had envisioned for his father.

The rain having let up an hour earlier, he stopped the carriage in front of his home that evening and bounded out. Part of him wished to drive on, keeping the truth from Noreen. After the shock of Francine's death and the responsibility of raising Betsy, he dreaded seeing what this latest tragedy would do to his stepmother.

Noreen stepped onto the gallery, Betsy in her arms. Dear Noreen, always the Southern lady. She would die before she'd call out to someone in the street, even to find out if Graham had found her long-missing husband.

He opened Ellie's door and helped her out, then grabbed the end of Sugar's leash and let her scramble down the carriage steps, white tail wagging. He turned the dog over to its pretty owner as Father climbed down to the street.

Ellie moved in close to Graham. “Maybe it would be best if I take the carriage home and leave you two alone with Miss Noreen,” she whispered. “Some people just want family at a time like this.”

“If we're courting, then you're almost family. Better come ahead in.”

Her smile and brightened eyes made Graham question his decision. But it was the first time she'd asked his opinion about anything, so he'd hate to tell her he'd changed his mind. Besides, Father seemed to take to her and her dog, so she might be a help, for a change.

But that thought was unfair. She'd been quite helpful today. He wouldn't have looked for his father in the cemetery without her suggestion.

When they reached the gallery, Ellie slid the leash's looped end over her wrist and took the baby from Noreen.

“James, you're home.” In her own refined way, Noreen dropped a demure kiss on her husband's cheek, but tears ran down her face. “I've never been so glad to see anyone—”

“Do you know where my Daisy is?” Father pulled back from her and gave her that empty stare that chilled Graham to his bones. Then he peered into Betsy's small face. “This isn't Daisy.”

Noreen covered her mouth with her hand. Her wide-eyed gaze shot to Graham, full of questions he had no answers for.

“I need to go for the doctor,” Graham said. “Father doesn't recognize me or Ellie, and when we stopped at Ambrose and Maria's on the way home, he didn't know them either.”

“I'll get Doctor Pritchert.” Ellie gave the baby back to Noreen. “Mister Talbot will need something hot to eat. He had some grits at the Coopers' house, but he didn't eat much.”

“Ellie, dear, you shouldn't drive about the city at this hour.” Noreen's voice carried into the hall.

“Nonsense, Miss Noreen...”

Excusing himself from the conversation, and the decision he could tell he wouldn't be a part of, Graham guided his father into the house. Headstrong Ellie would win this confrontation and, truth be told, Graham was glad. Ellie was right; things had changed since the war started. He needed her tonight, and he didn't mind admitting it.

Noreen came inside, holding the baby and leading the dog. “Perhaps you two could rest in the parlor while I get some leftover ham for James. Will you mind the baby and the dog for me?”

Graham unhooked the leash and took Betsy from his stepmother's arms. They'd not addressed the fact that Father didn't recognize Noreen, and although it would be painful to talk about it, it somehow seemed worse not to. “I'm disappointed that the only person he remembers is my deceased sister. I was hoping he'd know you.”

“This is harder than if he'd never come home at all.” Noreen let a tear roll down her face, then turned and started toward the dining room and, presumably, the kitchen. “Sugar, you take care of Betsy. And James too.”

Now, that was ridiculous. What could a dog do? Ellie must have put Noreen up to that. Although it would be nice if it worked. They could use the help.

In the parlor, Graham set Betsy on the blanket Noreen always used as a sort of rug for her. Then he seated his father on the gold settee beside the baby. Sugar ambled over and sniffed her. The dog lay down in front of her and licked her bare toes.

Betsy laughed and grabbed the dog's ear. Again.

Graham sat beside his father to watch the two on the floor. It felt awkward, sitting with Father and yet seemingly not relating to him in any meaningful way. As minutes ticked by, the silence grew more uncomfortable, and finally Graham said the first thing that came to his mind. “We have a good dog, Father.”

Graham's father petted Sugar's head. “You're a good dog.”

Those were the first sensible words Graham had heard him say. He shook his head. Ellie and that dog of hers.

Soon they heard a carriage pull up. The tinkling of those little bells told him it was Ellie and, he hoped, the doctor.

The front door opened, and Ellie's dainty footsteps, along with a heavier set, sounded in the hall as she called out to Graham.

She felt comfortable enough in his home to let herself in and bring the doctor with her. The fact warmed his heart in a way it hadn't when she'd let herself in after Aunt Ophelia's party. When they reached the parlor, he took her hand and started toward the door. “Let's sit in the library while the doctor examines Father. I'll meet you there in a moment.”

“I'll take Betsy along.” She crossed the room and picked up the baby. “Come, Sugar.”

As the dog got up, Father followed her with his gaze. “You're a good dog.”

Graham hastened to Doctor Pritchert's side as Ellie left the room. “I assume Ellie described his affliction to you. That's the second time he's spoken to the dog. It's the only thing he's said today that made sense,” he whispered.

“Well then,” Doctor Pritchert said in his drawn-out voice, “you'd better let the dog stay with him.”

What kind of nonsense was that? “Surely having a dog in the room won't make a difference.”

“This is a disease of the mind. I'll be honest with you—I could tell what was wrong as soon as I entered the room. Actually, as soon as Ellie told me about him. I've seen case after case like this since the soldiers started coming home.”

“Anyone can see his mind is affected. But what caused it?”

“Some traumatic event of the war must have done it. Many doctors think that seeing the horrors of battle affects the nerves in the body. The mind no longer knows what to do, even in ordinary circumstances.”

Could it be that simple? If so, there should logically be a simple cure. “What can we do about it?”

“Every case is different. Some patients respond to rest, wholesome food and, eventually, some form of meaningful work. If a particular activity or person—or even a dog—seems to make him think and speak normally, it's usually good to encourage it.”

As Doctor Pritchert sat next to Father and began talking with him, Graham left them to their privacy and started toward the library. Rest, food, work—Graham could understand how those could help. But a dog? Perhaps he should find a different doctor. This one had ideas as crazy as Ellie's. At least Ellie's ideas were more fun.

The thought shocked him as much as any of Ellie's schemes ever had. Was it true? Did he think Ellie was fun?

Of course he did. He always had. That was one of the things that had drawn him to her all those years ago. That, and those beautiful blue eyes, the ones that always saw him for who he was inside rather than who he tried to be.

Since he'd been home, he merely hadn't wanted to admit it. And he still didn't. But now it was getting harder to ignore.

The library, where he assumed he'd find Ellie, was empty. She also wasn't on the front gallery or in the kitchen dependency, where Noreen fixed a tray for Father.

Then Graham realized where she'd be—the backyard garden, her favorite spot. Arriving there, he found her seated under the crape myrtles, the baby in her lap. He crossed the yard and joined her on the grass, the dew beginning to fall and freshen the lawn.

He sat with her for a moment, not sure how to say what he felt. But it had to be said. “Ellie, I want to thank you. You're the one who found Father, but you did more than that. Without you there to help and encourage me, it would have been a much more difficult day—and evening.” He took her hand and squeezed it for a moment—just a friendly squeeze.

“I didn't annoy you?” Her teasing tone comforted him somehow, tempered his seriousness.

He couldn't help the smile that came from his heart. “I'm getting kind of used to it.”

* * *

Ellie, sweetheart...

That night, Graham's words during their encounter with Leonard floated back into Ellie's mind as softly as her white bed canopy fluttered in the breeze. She kicked off her sheet and gazed out the window at Graham's house bathed in moonlight. When he'd spoken those words, she'd been so distressed that they simply must not have registered. But now she heard them as if they came from Graham's mouth rather than her memory.

Ellie, sweetheart...

She knew he'd said that just to make Leonard and Joseph believe he was in love with her. But those words sure had a way of convincing a girl that he wasn't pretending.

Lying here was useless, since sleep wouldn't come to her as long as those two words kept swirling around in her mind. And as long as her stomach ached as it did. She got up and donned her dressing gown, then made for the stairs and the dining room.

There, she lifted one of Mother's blue Baccarat glasses from the sideboard, left at Magnolia Grove when her parents moved from that house to New Orleans before Ellie was born. Or so the family story went. She measured a teaspoon of sugar as if it were the most potent of medicines, then sprinkled it in the glass. She filled the glass with fresh water Lilah May kept in the matching pitcher for her, in case Ellie needed it in the night.

She stirred the water with a long-handled silver spoon. Then she sat at the mahogany table and took a long drink of the sweet water, her stomach settling a bit.

Yesterday, Graham had said he wanted to intensify the courtship. What he didn't know was how his eyes had turned a stormy green when he said it. Was it wise to make their courtship look even more serious? Was there a chance he'd fall in love with her again?

Or that she would fall in love with him?

Nonsense. Their supposed courtship was a business arrangement—two old friends helping each other. It held no danger for either of them. Besides, he was right in saying they needed to make the courtship more authentic. She took another sip of her sweet water. It had to be past midnight. She closed her eyes.

Dear God, it's true, isn't it? We're in no danger?

* * *

The next morning, Graham knelt beside his bed, still in the nightshirt he'd borrowed from his father. Since he'd returned to Natchez, each day had brought new crises. First the girls scouting him like Yankees, then Ellie and her crazy courtship plan, then baby Betsy's appearance, then Leonard Fitzwald, now Father...

It would take a bigger man than Graham to deal with all this plus find a way to support them all. He needed work, needed an income, especially since Father would be no help anytime soon, if ever.

Holding his head in his hands, Graham forced his fear from his mind—fear that his prayer would again bounce off the ceiling as it had yesterday. By faith he began his prayer.

God, the only work I know how to do is soldiering. I probably could have succeeded as a planter, but I have no ground. I need Your help. What should I—

The crash of a metal object against his windowpane brought his head up. The sound was strangely familiar, one from long ago. He rose from the floor and hastened to the window.

It couldn't be.

Tied to a piece of twine strung twenty feet above the lawn, between his window and Ellie's, was the barrel of the old, broken fountain pen he'd scavenged from the trash heap twelve years prior. He looked up to the top sash. The twine was threaded around the small wooden pulley he'd nailed to the sash back then, identical to the one above Ellie's window. Graham reached through the open bottom half of the window and grabbed the barrel.

Their old secret-message vessel.

Although his fingers were bigger and clumsier than they'd been in his childhood, he managed to extract the slip of paper folded up inside the cylinder. Unlike in earlier years, this paper was a light plum color and smelled of sweet flowers. He unfolded it with a sense of trepidation.

Rise and shine, sleepyhead! Get up and spiff yourself up and get ready to beau me to church this morning. We need to get there in time to let everybody, especially Leonard and Susanna, see us courting. Try hard to leave your frown behind. You could be a lot of fun if you tried. And you're invited to dinner at our house, and don't forget the sunset picnic at the river bluff tonight.

“Sis.”

Sis
. So she remembered his old nickname for her—the one he'd grown to hate when she'd laughed at his proposal and told him she was his sis, not his girl.

The old pain reared up in him again. How could she have missed the change in their relationship back then? Or had she missed it? Whatever had happened in her heart and mind years ago, it was plain to see she had no more desire for a romance with him now than ever.

And that was fine with him. He snatched a piece of writing paper from his old desk and began a note of his own.

You may be just my Sis, but you have a role to play in this too. You'd better outshine Aunt Ophelia with fluff and feathers this morning. And don't make me wait on you to put them on.

If Ellie could keep up this charade, so could Graham. He'd figure it out somehow. She didn't know it yet, but she was about to get the courting of her life.

He hurried through his morning routine and dressed in his uniform again. Tomorrow, as soon as the stores opened in Natchez, he had to buy some new clothes—