Counterfeit Courtship (15 page)

“I'm not worried about them. I'm worried about you and Ellie.”

“Us? Why?”

“Ellie told me about your plan to pretend to court. Believe me, that's going to cause nothing but heartache.”

Pretending to court... So that's what Amos objected to. “I thought you referred to the fact that I am accepting Ellie's offer to become your broker.”

“She told me that she asked you, and I'm glad. But this courtship deception is more important than business. Every day, I pray that God will give you and Ellie wisdom to be good stewards of everything He has given you. Including your hearts.”

More important than business? Amos must have changed in the years Graham had been gone.

Or had he? In those last months, he'd often happened upon Amos and Father on their knees together, praying for their families. And for a solution to the problem of slavery that had pricked their hearts ever since they'd heard Charles Finney preach in New York.

Besides, it was a little late for Graham to become a good steward of his own heart. Eight years too late. Ellie had apparently taken good care of hers. But maybe Amos knew that.

“Ellie's vulnerable. She tries to act as if romance means nothing to her, although I don't know why.” Amos shifted his weight on the pillows, but whether from physical or emotional discomfort, Graham couldn't tell. “She has a woman's heart. Attention from you, either true or false, could lead to...an attachment.”

If he knew about Fitzwald and his schemes, he'd think differently. And if he knew how Ellie had shunned Graham years ago, he'd see how safe she was. No, the man didn't understand, although he surely meant well.

“Thank you for the insight. I'll keep it in the forefront of my mind. I promise not to let it get out of hand.”

Amos lifted one brow, then shook his head. Graham couldn't blame him for his doubt, since the man didn't have all the facts.

Or did Amos have a lot more wisdom than Graham credited him with?

Of a sudden, Ellie's hasty departure made sense to him. She knew her uncle disapproved of their “courtship,” and she'd seen the direction the conversation had been headed. “Amos, I believe Ellie created that diversion to ensure that my aunt wouldn't hear us discuss the nature of our courtship. We want to keep that a secret.”

“And Ophelia can't keep secrets.”

Graham smiled. “Exactly.”

Lilah May's soprano voice wafted into the room from down the hall as she sang her favorite hymn, “Blessed Be the Tie that Binds.” Within moments, she poked her head in the door. “Colonel, Miss Ellie sent me to ask if it was safe for her and your aunt to come back.”

“Please tell her Amos and I have discussed our courtship.”

“Mmm-hmm. I'll tell her.” Lilah May's cutting tone let Graham know she was also aware of their arrangement—and disapproved.

This was getting embarrassing. He turned his gaze from her probing eyes and used his handkerchief to wipe the sweat gathering on his brow. Did the whole town need to know that his romance was false? It was bad enough to be spurned. Now he still couldn't get the girl he'd wanted, even if he tried. Even if he wanted to. And this entire household knew, probably down to Roman, the groom.

“You okay? You look a little peaked.”

Graham's head shot up, and he saw Lilah May scrutinizing him as a young girl's mother would pierce the heart of her renegade suitor. What was she looking for? What did she think he was going to do to Ellie? He was only trying to protect her.

Until last night, under the magnolia where they'd stopped to rest a moment and catch their breath. Problem was, it hadn't been restful. Hadn't been restful at all.

Those big blue eyes of hers, looking up at him with trust and respect, silently thanking him for protecting her from Leonard—they had nearly done him in. If anyone thought he was going to back away from her now, they were wrong.

“Don't you break her heart.” Lilah May's voice brought him back to the present and to two pairs of probing eyes.

“I'd sooner break my own neck.” And he found that he meant it.

As she left the room, her sideways glance made him think she'd be glad to help him do just that if he trifled with her employer.

* * *

If Uncle Amos gave Graham the same courting talk he'd given Ellie, today might be the last day of their courtship ruse. And her disappointment at the thought surprised her more than her uncle's outburst had.

Disappointment aside, she needed Graham to keep Leonard at a distance. Last night proved that. Oh, she could deal with him herself, but how much more effective was a supposed fiancé in a Confederate officer's uniform, his sidearm at his hip? Yes, she would always keep her independence, but why not use the most effective means to achieve her goal?

Not to mention how devastatingly handsome that officer was in those cadet grays...

“You knew I needed to talk, didn't you?” Miss Ophelia, her hair even more haphazard than usual, sat at the kitchen worktable writing a receipt for her Lady Baltimore cake. “It was kind of you to get me away from the men, under the pretense of learning how I make my cakes.”

No, she hadn't, but it was no surprise. Besides, Miss Ophelia's chattering usually required no answer, which gave Ellie plenty of thinking time. “It wasn't pretense. Lilah May has been pestering me for this receipt.”

“We're so much alike, I'm not surprised that you knew I had troubles.”

So much alike.
That chill came to Ellie again, driving away the false sense of security she'd talked herself into last night so she could fall asleep. Truth was, she and Miss Ophelia were alike in many ways. Flighty at times, talking too much a lot of the time, but thinking all the time. Planning. Making a way for themselves. And praying always.

If only Ellie didn't have the paralyzing feeling that Miss Ophelia's fate would also be her own...

But in reality, she wouldn't have that fate. If she couldn't make it on her own, she had no relatives to take her in. And she had Uncle Amos to care for. So, no, Ellie would not wind up a poor relation living on the charity of her family.

She'd be married to Leonard Fitzwald.

Nothing could be worse than that.

If she were all alone, she'd find a way to support herself, even working in a store or a hotel. But she had her uncle to think of. She could never take care of him on a working girl's wage.

Ellie had to hold on to Magnolia Grove. Somehow.

She slipped her hand into her skirt pocket and touched the note Lilah May had brought her just after she and Miss Ophelia came downstairs. Joseph wanted her in his office first thing this morning—alone. With no idea what that could mean, Ellie both longed for and dreaded this meeting. Had he discovered some loophole, some restriction that could set her free from this burdensome loan? Or had something worse come upon her that she knew nothing of?

She heard Graham trot down the stairs, no doubt tired of waiting for her to come up, his familiar running-down-the-steps gait taking her back eight years. They'd spent as much time in each other's houses as they had their own, especially that last summer. And she'd noticed how things had begun to change between them, to get sweeter and softer, with innocent yet intentional touches of the hand, the face...

And she'd cut it off.

Even now she still felt the pain, the remorse of refusing him. It had been the right thing to do, but hard. So hard...

And so lonely after he left.

“All is well with Amos.” Graham pulled out a chair and sat with them at the table. “He accepted me as your new broker.”

Her uncle liked her idea of Graham being their broker—and he hadn't forbidden their supposed courtship?

“That's wonderful news!” Ellie sprang from her chair and flung her arms around his neck.

He tensed and then patted her back, his hand awkward. “Wonderful.”

Ellie pulled back. What was she thinking? About the past, that's what. She was thinking too much about the past. She returned to her chair, her face flaming. “I'm sorry, Graham, Miss Ophelia. I forgot myself.”

“Think nothing of it,” Miss Ophelia said. “I'm an advocate of young love.”

“But not young foolishness.” Ellie cleared her throat and fanned her face.

“Speaking of love,” the older woman said, “I have a solution to your courtship problem.”

Ellie's gaze darted to Graham. She knew their arrangement?

“As I told Graham, Susanna Martin came to me with a story about the two of you riding out to Magnolia Grove together. It's causing quite a stir on Pearl Street.”

“Susanna causes trouble everywhere she goes,” Ellie said.

“True, but you must protect your reputation, especially if Graham is going to try to become a broker in this town. People must know they can trust him. My solution is to accompany you on your daily excursions.”

Graham took Ellie's hand in a convincingly romantic fashion. “I'll leave the choice up to you. Having another person along will hamper your work at Magnolia Grove. If you decide to risk being the object of gossip, we will continue going alone. I'm sure I can manage to get enough work as a broker to support all of us, even if I don't get as much as I would otherwise.”

“That's true, but you deserve so much more.” Ellie turned to Miss Ophelia. “Thank you for wanting to help us. I gratefully accept, starting this afternoon.”

“Not this morning?” Graham asked, brows raised.

She slid him the note from Joseph. “I have to meet my attorney at nine.”

Ellie could tell when Graham came to the line asking her to come alone. He stiffened in his seat. “Alone? No. I'm coming anyway.”

“I'll be all right. It's probably nothing.” But as she said the words, she knew Joseph would not make this request without good reason.

Things were about to change. She could feel it.

Chapter Fourteen

“E
llie, I've never had to do anything like this in my life, let alone to the niece of one of my best friends.” Ellie sat with Joseph in his office ten minutes later, his face drawn and rather pale for this time of year. He toyed with the stack of papers in front of him, his gaze downward. “It's bad news.”

Ellie dredged up a smile she didn't feel. “I'm not sure how things could get much worse. Tell it to me all at once.”

“It's not that easy.” He handed her a paper. “This document shows the transfer of the Louisiana–Texas railroad from Robert Fitzwald to Edward Anderson.”

She scanned the document, her eyes tearing up at the sight of her father's signature. “I own a railroad.”

“Since your father's demise, technically, yes. It is in your uncle's name until such time as you marry, and all your profits go into a trust fund that you can access only after your marriage.”

A railroad. A successful railroad that hadn't helped Mother while she was alive and couldn't help Ellie now. She jabbed the paper with her finger. “Then why did my mother and I have to beg for food? Why did we live in a sweltering little room above a saloon in the New Orleans French Quarter? Why did she, a Stanton, have to serve whiskey in that establishment while I spent every evening alone? What kind of a man was my father?”

Joseph heaved the sigh of an old man. “It's not as it seems. He started gambling as a lark, a young man's diversion, but he wasn't very good at it. Your grandfather paid his gambling debts for several years, but as the stakes got higher and higher, so did the losses. Finally your grandfather had to cut him off.”

“Then what happened?”

“Your father was married by then, and you'd been born. He always felt he had to play one more game, try to win a huge pot, and then he'd stop. But, as you can see by this railroad deed, he never stopped. Notice the date, dear. Your father passed on just three months after he acquired the property.”

She didn't want to see it, but she had to look. November 29, 1849. “You're right. We didn't see him after that. I remember because we had a long, lonely Christmas just before he died.”

“Here is a copy of his obituary.” Joseph handed her a newspaper clipping. “He was on his way to California to prospect for gold when he got into a gunfight and died.”

Ellie closed her eyes without reading the clipping. “A fight over a card game?”

“Yes.”

She should have known. She shoved the paper toward Joseph and pushed back her chair. Joseph had promised bad news, and he had kept his word. A railroad, worthless to her since she couldn't sell it, and the worst possible news about her father's death. She wasn't even sure why she needed to know that. Life would have been easier without it. “Keep it in your files, please. I don't ever want to see that piece of paper again.”

Before she could stand, Joseph touched her elbow, then pushed another newspaper article toward her. “Stay seated, Ellie. You haven't heard the worst yet.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against the throbbing that was starting in her temples.

“Your father won that railroad from Robert Fitzwald in a card game.”

Ellie lifted her head. She'd been right. Leonard wanted that railroad back for spite.

“You said you wanted me to tell you the bad news all at once, so I'm going to do that now. The worst news is that Leonard Fitzwald has instructed me to tell you that, if you refuse his offer of marriage, he plans to make that knowledge public and claim that the game was rigged.”

The cooing of a mourning dove wafted through the window, and Ellie felt like crying along with it. “Let him do it. I'm going to pay that loan and get out from under his threats. Once I'm out of his debt, he can't do anything more to me.”

“That's not exactly true. First, the chances of paying the loan are as slim as they get.”

But he didn't know about her secret stash of cotton.

“And if he spreads the rumors about your father, it will damage not only your reputation, but Graham's as well. I don't know his plans for the future, but both Ashland Place and his father's plantation, Ammadelle, are gone. He needs a livelihood, and he needs a good reputation if he's going to continue to live and to work in Natchez.”

It couldn't be. “He's going to be a cotton broker.” Her voice sounded small, even to her ears.

“Not in Natchez. Not if this happens,” he said more forcefully. “That is why I asked you to come alone. You need to evaluate your courtship with him and determine whether it will stand this test before he finds out about it.”

Joseph had no idea how unnecessary that was. But Miss Ophelia had said something to the same effect about gossip. Except that she had referenced something much more benign than this. “Leonard served a confiscation notice to Miss Ophelia.”

“I know.” Joseph scowled as she'd never seen before. “He pulled some of his late father's strings in Washington and got a Freedmen's Bureau appointment. There's no limit to his malice.”

A sinking feeling came to Ellie's middle. “What should I do, Joseph?”

“Find a way to pay that loan, although I don't know anybody in Natchez with the money to help you out, other than Fitzwald. I'd pay it for you myself if I could. Then marry Graham as fast as you can arrange it.”

“Joseph, no...”

“Don't argue. You know how Natchez is. Rumors such as this carry twice the weight if their subject is unmarried. Four times the weight if both parties are unmarried. A quick wedding and the protection of Graham's name are your best defenses.”

Marry Graham. No, she was going to deal with this on her own. Her father may have been a gambler, and her mother may have had to beg for their food, but Ellie was going to take care of herself and prosper in the process.

“I'll be back here in two weeks, Joseph.” She stood, and her attorney followed suit. By no means would she let Graham or anybody know that her father was a gambler and a cheat. She'd close Leonard's mouth by giving him the money. If she could, she'd give him the railroad too. “The next time I come into this office, I am going to hand you thirty thousand dollars to give to Leonard Fitzwald, and then I'm going to Magnolia Grove to throw the biggest party Natchez has seen, before or since the war.”

“As your mother used to say, you can do anything you set your mind to,” he said in his fatherly tone. “I advise you to go home and plan what you're going to wear.”

* * *

That had to have been the longest hour of Graham's life.

As the landau pulled up to the carriage house, Graham sprinted out the door toward it. Honoring both Joseph's and Ellie's wishes and staying home this morning had been almost more than he could take. Now he couldn't wait another minute to find out what the attorney said and why Graham wasn't welcome for the saying of it. Whatever it was, he had to know now, so they could plan their next step.

Ellie bounded out of the landau the moment it stopped moving. She caught sight of him and waved. “Come into the parlor. I'll change clothes and meet you there. We need to get to Magnolia Grove and see how many new workers we have.”

“Aunt Ophelia will be along in a moment. If we need to discuss your meeting with Joseph in private, this is our only chance.”

A cloud passed over her eyes, and she nodded. “Most of our business will be the mundane, but we can't say anything in front of her that we wouldn't say in front of the entire town—the county.”

They hastened to the house and the parlor. “I do own the railroad, but my uncle has it in trust.” Twisting her mother's pearl ring, she whispered so Uncle Amos wouldn't hear. “Leonard is determined to have my land and the railroad, and he'll do everything he can to get them. I have to ship the first load of cotton as soon as I can. When will you start working on selling it?”

“I'll go uptown and send some wires as soon as you give me the buyers' names and addresses.”

She started for the stairs. “We'll do it this afternoon when we get back from Magnolia Grove, so we can be home in the heat of the day.”

“I'll go outside and help Aunt Ophelia into the carriage when she gets here.”

“You can put Sugar in too.”

A half hour later, Graham stopped the carriage in front of the big house and took in the sight of about two hundred men, women and children on the lawn. “I knew you'd get a lot of workers, but I never dreamed of this.”

Ellie bounded out of the carriage, again without Graham's help, and reached back in for the giant ledger she'd brought from home. As soon as he had the back door open for Aunt Ophelia, Sugar jumped out and took off after her mistress.

“Come up to the house, everyone, and we'll take care of business.” Ellie and Sugar hastened to the house, the curving arch of the centuries-old oak framing its front gallery.

Graham stayed behind to help his aunt across the uneven lawn and toward the cistern house. There she said she intended to draw some cool water to serve the children in the gathering while Ellie worked. Within minutes, the crowd formed a line out the front door and across the yard.

Inside the great hall, Ellie sat at her small rococo entry table with her book and pen, Sugar lying at her feet. Ellie took down each name, explained the terms, and shook each hand.

Amazing. It wasn't enough people to pick twenty-five hundred acres of cotton, but it would help. Because of Ellie's crazy plan.

He greeted each potential worker and introduced himself as the planter's broker and fiancé. He had to admit, it sounded good, even though it was a ruse. And even though, as a child, he'd dreamed of being the planter. Certainly never the planter's intended.

He stopped that thought cold. The dream of planting died years ago, and he had refused to let himself think about it. Too bad it had to pop up now.

By noon, Ellie had the workers catalogued and was closing her book when one more man strode through the door. His gait was the familiar limp of a man with an artificial leg, and he steadied himself with a sturdy cane. He removed his well-brushed hat and smoothed down his strawberry-blond hair. “Miss Anderson, thank you for helping my family last night. Have you need of an overseer?”

“What a pleasant surprise.” She offered her hand, and he took it like a gentleman. “Colonel Graham Talbot, this is Mister Myron Sutton, Lydia's husband.”

Graham shook his hand, noting a strong grip. That was a good sign. He pulled up two chairs from the row against the wall. “Please be seated. You don't seem like the kind of man to work outdoors.”

“No, sir, but war changes things. I was the manager of Rosemount Plantation before the war. The owner lived near Beaufort, South Carolina, and inherited the property. I was in charge of everything—supervised the planting and harvesting, bookkeeping, upkeep, the help—every aspect of running a cotton plantation.” Myron took his seat next to Graham, across the table from Ellie. “I understand you manage your own land, ma'am. But I have a wife and child to support. I know the job of the overseer, and I'm not too good to do the work.”

“I already have a competent overseer.” Ellie tapped her pen on the table for a moment, her gaze far-off.

Mister Sutton's jaw clenched like steel. “In that case, I'm not too good to pick cotton.”

“Let me think a moment...”

As usual, Graham could tell when her idea came to her. Her eyes brightened as always, and he braced himself for the plan.

She bounded to her feet. “Mister Sutton, would you excuse Colonel Talbot and me for a minute?”

Mister Sutton hastened to rise as well, clearly surprised by Ellie's sudden movement. Graham, on the other hand, was used to it, and got up more slowly.

In her uncle's library, Ellie closed the door and pulled Graham to the other side of the room. “We would be fools to let a man with his knowledge and experience pick cotton.”

It was coming. He simply had to wait and let her get to her point.

“Last night, I had another idea. Until you get more clients, you'll have a lot of time on your hands.”

“True.”

“So let's plant some ground for you to manage and for Mister Sutton to oversee.”

He struggled and failed to keep up with her. “All of your ground is planted in cotton.”

“Not my ground. Yours.”

Had the strain been too much for her? “Ellie. I have no ground.”

“Yes, you do. I realized it last night. I know your father's plantation has been sold, but Ashland Place, your ground, has not. It's lying fallow, overrun with weeds.” Her words came out faster, her eyes shining like the gold she seemed to think he was going to earn from ground he didn't have. “You don't understand—I can see it in your face. Think about it. That ground might sit there for a hundred years before anybody buys it. Thousands of acres all around Natchez are lying fallow because they've been confiscated but not sold. What's to keep you from farming it anyway?”

That did make a little sense, but not enough. “The cotton season's over. We could think about it next year—”

“Plant peas.”

He blinked. Opened his mouth to speak, but he had no words.

Graham closed his mouth and gazed out the window at the men and women still milling around the lawn. Two hundred cotton pickers and a manager—or overseer, or whatever Sutton was. Twenty workers already here before this day. Mouths to feed at both their homes—and she wanted him to plant peas.

He turned to face her. “Honey, I think the pressure has gotten to you. Let's go on home and—”

“I am not losing my mind. I've thought this through, but I didn't know how to go about it until now.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the desk. There she snatched a book and opened it to a page she had marked with a slip of her plum-colored note paper. “Look at this. I've been reading about increasing cotton production. Some agriculture experts think we need to plant a different crop after the cotton harvest and then work those plants back into the soil. It's supposed to put nutrients back into the ground.”