Counterfeit Courtship (22 page)

Finally, she broke away. Her cotton payment would come tomorrow, and they'd have enough money to have the reception she'd always wanted—at Magnolia Grove. “I'll marry you, Graham. The day after tomorrow.”

Chapter Twenty

T
wo days later, Ellie awakened to a thunking sound against her windowpane.

She sprang from her bed and drew the pen barrel inside. Graham must have affixed the secret-message pulley to her window frame yesterday while she delivered her wedding invitations. She untied the crape myrtle blossom from the vessel and held the white flower to her nose. A faint, sweet scent, subtle yet enduring.

When she had extracted the message, she returned to her bed to read it.

Wake up, sleepyhead! In two hours, I'll be at your house to beau you to church. And this time, you'd better have your bridal veil, not your grandmother's old hat.

Your soon-to-be husband,

Graham

Smiling at his little references to the note she'd sent him just days ago, she grabbed a sheet of her plum-colored stationery and jotted a note in return.

I'll be ready before you are. The race is on!

Your loving, faithful, devoted intended. And this time, that's no joke!

She hastened to the window, then caught her breath. At least a dozen blue handkerchiefs flew like flags from the windows of his house.

Blue flags—an invitation to an adventure.

She grabbed the twine and sent the missile sailing above their lawns. “I'm pleased to accept your invitation, Colonel Talbot!”

* * *

Later that morning, Colonel and Mrs. Graham Talbot exited the crowded church amid a flurry of rice. Even Father joined in the custom, a smile in his eyes for the first time since he returned from war.

As the two families drove to Magnolia Grove, Ellie's face shone bright as the morning sun. “I don't care if Miss Ophelia sees me kiss you now, husband.” She edged closer and did just that, a warm, gentle kiss that made all their struggles worth it.

Graham laughed, his tone as light as his heart. “She's in the carriage that went north to your house to get Lilah May's pies—and Sugar—and we're going south to Magnolia Grove. So if you meant to shock her with that kiss, it didn't work.”

“However, your stepmother is in the backseat of this buggy,” Noreen said amidst Betsy's chatter. “But she isn't shocked. In fact, she approves.”

“So does your father.”

Graham felt his eyes fill, his heart nearly bursting with the blessed changes in his life and family.

When they drove down Magnolia Grove's dirt drive, past the cypress bog and then under the canopy of live oaks, Ellie kept her gaze straight ahead as if memorizing each detail. “Pretty soon, the whole yard will be full of carriages and wagons. Miss Ophelia will love that.”

“The gallery looks lovely, Ellie,” Noreen said as they drew closer to the house. “I didn't expect you to get it fixed in time.”

“Graham did that. He gave all the workers the option of either hoeing cotton or cleaning, painting, mowing, weeding, repairing the gallery and helping him install a new door. They all chose to work here.”

The house didn't look as festive as it would have, had they married before the war and the hardships it brought. But the vases of crape myrtle blossoms on the outdoor tables looked more beautiful to Graham than bushels of orchids.

When they stopped in front of the house, Graham got out to help Ellie. Father also hastened around to the other side to assist Noreen and Betsy.

Yes, change had come to the Talbot and Anderson families.

Noreen headed straight for the kitchen dependency to check on the food and help the women Graham had hired to cook. She had barely left his sight around the house when the first carriages started down the lane.

Susanna Martin and a Confederate lieutenant she'd found somewhere greeted them first. “I declare, Colonel, I can't keep up with you two. Just days ago, Ellie told me herself that your courtship was over.”

Her petulant tone grated against Graham's nerves, but it didn't seem to bother her escort, who turned a haughty smile on her. “You know how these affairs of the heart are, dear,” the lieutenant said. “Here today and gone tomorrow.”

At the man's words, Susanna looked so disappointed that Graham almost felt sorry for her. Nevertheless, he couldn't allow the soldier to cast a shadow on Ellie's day—and his. “Not all romances are that way, Lieutenant. It depends solely on the hearts behind them.”

Guests continued to arrive and mingle, and just as Noreen whispered to him that the meal was ready, a carriage came racing down the drive.

It looked like Ellie's landau. Was Ellie's household not here yet? He glanced around for them. “What on earth—”

Some calamity had to have happened for Roman to drive in such a manner. Graham ran to meet the carriage as it ground to a stop amid a whirl of dust.

“Graham!” Joseph bounded from the carriage as if he were thirty years younger. “A letter—from President Johnson—”

If he said more, Graham didn't hear it. He gave only a glance to the envelope's return address: 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington City...

He ripped it open and pulled out a huge sheet of paper, folded in fourths.

* * *

“ANDREW JOHNSON

PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

TO ALL TO WHOM THESE PRESENTS SHALL COME, GREETING:

Whereas, Graham P. Talbot of Adams County, Mississippi, by taking part in the late rebellion against the Government of the United States, has made himself liable to heavy pains and penalties...”

* * *

His voice cracked, and he realized he'd been reading it aloud. He tried to keep reading, but his throat tightened and nothing came out but a croak. No. It couldn't be. Was this a warrant for his arrest? That seemed ridiculous, but what else could the document mean? “My pardon has been denied...”

Ellie took the paper from his trembling hands and scanned down the page until she let out a cry. “You didn't read far enough. Listen—

“Now, therefore, be it known that I, Andrew Johnson, President of the United States of America, in consideration of the premises, diverse other good and sufficient reasons me thereunto moving, do hereby grant to the said Graham P. Talbot a full pardon and amnesty for all offenses by him committed, arising from participation...”

She shoved the paper back into his hands. “It's your pardon!”

Pardon. It couldn't be. He skimmed the words that now blurred on the paper in his hand. “Where does it say that? I want to see the word
pardon
.”

Ellie poked the paper. “Right below the spot where you stopped reading.” She eyed the page again. “You'll have to read the whole thing later, because it has instructions about taking the oath of loyalty and responding to the pardon.”

And there it was. His pardon.
Thank You, God.

He pulled Ellie—his wife—close as the gathered crowd clapped and shouted their congratulations. Then he had to take a moment to wipe his soggy eyes before he could continue. He looked around at the family standing about him—Noreen, Father, little Betsy and Aunt Ophelia, who looked a bit disheveled but pink-cheeked after the whirlwind buggy ride. His new family, Ellie and Amos, who looked dapper with Aunt Ophelia at his side. Roman and Lilah May, who muttered about her pies being ruined during that wild ride. The tables laden with food. His neighbors and friends. Joseph, who brought the good news. Even a string orchestra to entertain them.

He didn't deserve this. How had his life turned out so good? He'd never know, but he intended to give thanks to the One who'd orchestrated it all.

He turned to their minister, standing beside him, no doubt waiting to be called upon to ask the blessing for the food. “Reverend Gifford, I hope you'll forgive me for the unconventional deed I'm about to do. According to tradition, the minister should pray over this meal, but I have much to thank God for, and I can't let another man do that for me.”

With Reverend Gifford's blessing, Graham glanced around the lawn at their guests, each bowing the head or knee. “Father, you've overwhelmed me with Your goodness. I did nothing to deserve all this, so I give You thanks. Your hand brought all this blessing to me, and I thank You in the name of Your Son, Jesus. Amen.”

“Meh-men!” Betsy's little voice rang out next to him, and he kissed her soft hair.

“Ellie, you said you would throw the biggest party Natchez has ever seen, before or after the war.” Joseph held up his cup of icy Chatham Artillery punch—without the liquor, of course. “And you've done just that. Congratulations on outfoxing a weasel, and best wishes on your marriage.”

Amid shouts and well-wishes, Miss Ophelia insisted Graham and Ellie serve themselves first, and to appease her, they did. Their plates loaded with turkey, étouffée, ham and just about every vegetable he could name, they settled in at the table nearest the house.

“Before we eat, I want to give this to you.” Ellie held out a small box.

Oh, no. A wedding gift. “Ellie, I'm sorry. I didn't think to get you anything.”

“You did. Your mother's ring. It's precious to me and I love it, so just open the box.”

Graham lifted the lid, and his class ring glittered inside the case. How had she done that? He slid it onto the third finger of his left hand, where all West Point men wore them. Then he gave her a quick hug. “That's the most perfect gift you could have given me. How'd you know where to get it?”

“Joseph told me who you sold it to.”

Graham had a feeling his wife would be one step ahead of him for the rest of his life. And to be honest, that felt pretty good.

As they began their first meal together as a married couple, the orchestra played the opening notes of “Aura Lea.”

“Aura Lea—the maid with golden hair.” He touched one of her curls.

“I don't know what Aura Lea did, but this golden-haired maid couldn't be any happier.” She paused and frowned. “Except for one thing.”

Then she got that look in her eye. She was thinking again...

“I want to live here, Graham. This is my favorite spot in the world, much homier than our house in town.”

“That's the only thing I haven't figured out yet—where everybody is going to live,” he said. “We have six adults, one baby, one maid, one groom and four houses between us. How is this going to work?”

Her smile glistened in the afternoon sunlight. “Don't worry. I have a plan...”

* * * * *

Read on for an extract from STAND-IN RANCHER DADDY by Renee Ryan.

Dear Reader
,

Thank you for reading my first book with Love Inspired Historical!

Finishing the first draft, I didn't know how Ellie would overcome her greatest fear. Then I remembered my father always telling me, “You can do anything you set your mind to.” These words helped me through RN training, Bible college and twenty-seven years of marriage and ministry. Thinking of this, I knew Ellie's mother had encouraged her the same way. This early teaching, coupled with Philippians 4:13—“I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me”—helped Ellie achieve her goal.

I hope that, like Ellie and me, you have someone who encourages your dreams. If not, Jesus promises to be that strength for you.

I'd love to hear from you! Please contact me through Love Inspired, at
https://www.facebook.com/christinalinstrotmiller
, or on Twitter
@CLMauthor
. See my Sugar, on whom Ellie's dog is based, at
https://www.facebook.com/SugarDogMiller
.

Christina Miller

Chapter One

Little Horn, Texas, June 1895

A
full hour before the sun peeked over the horizon, Molly Carson Langley slid out of bed. Ranch work started early in Texas Hill Country. If she wished to make her morning journey before the sun rose, she must hurry.

With fast, measured steps, she padded through the room. The hardwood floor was polished to a smooth patina and felt warm beneath her bare feet. A muffled sigh slipped past her lips. After three years of marriage and successfully managing her own household, she didn't belong in her childhood home anymore.

She wasn't sure where she belonged. Until she figured it out, a pair of motherless four-year-olds needed her. That mattered. It had to matter.
Of course
it mattered.

Jaw set at a determined angle, Molly stuffed her feet inside a pair of ankle boots and put on her favorite calico dress with the lavender floral print. She wound her blond hair in a loose braid down her back, then packed a small bag with personal items from her dresser. A hairbrush, a rack of pins, several ribbons in colors she hoped the girls would like, and her worn Bible with the pages crinkled at the edges.

One glance out the window told her the morning sky was shifting from black to deep purple. Dawn was drawing near.

Hurry, Molly
.

She made her way toward the door. The other occupant in the room slept peacefully, her soft, feminine snoring the only sound cutting through the still, humid air.

Without breaking stride, Molly smiled down at her sister. At sixteen, the dreams of youth were still fresh and untarnished in Daisy's young mind. Seven years older, Molly could hardly relate to the girl. The death of her husband eleven months ago made it all the more difficult.

Her feet grew heavy as stone and, for a brief moment, despair filled Molly's heart. She'd lost more than her husband. So. Much.
More
.

No. She would not feel sorry for herself. If he were here, George would tell her that the good Lord had a plan for her life. No matter how dark it seemed right now, the particulars were already worked out. She just needed to have faith.

Molly wasn't as faithful as her preacher husband had been. Not anymore. Perhaps she never had been.

At least she'd had somewhere to go after George's death. Molly would concentrate on being grateful her family had welcomed her home.

Her future might look bleak, but she was still young, still vital, still necessary to a family facing their own tragedy. When she'd returned home, she'd never expected her best friend to die suddenly and leave behind twin daughters. Molly would take care of Penelope's children until she was no longer needed.

Resolve firmly in place, she slung the satchel over her shoulder and tiptoed into the empty hallway. She entered the kitchen, took two full steps and froze.

A pang of guilt whispered through her.

“Good morning, Mama.” Molly adopted what she hoped was an airy tone. “You're up early.”

“I was going to say the same about you.” The soft, musical lilt was in stark contrast to the concern in her mother's eyes.

Even after birthing five children, Helen Carson remained a beautiful woman. Her blond hair, streaked with silver strands, was pulled back in a serviceable bun that revealed a face nearly identical to her two daughters. Save for a few lines and wrinkles, the high cheekbones were the same, as were the straight nose, pale blue eyes and stubborn set of her chin.

“Well, I'm off to the Thorn ranch.” Molly attempted to shift around her mother.

“I'd like a word with you before you leave.”

Molly tried not to sigh. This was the reason she'd woken early: to avoid a difficult conversation with her mother.

Helen Carson was fiercely protective of all her children, and that included her oldest daughter. What she refused to understand was that Molly was a grown woman capable of making her own decisions. “There is nothing you can say that will change my mind.”

Her mother's features showed distress and something else—not censure, precisely, but close. “It's been nearly a year since your husband's death. George wouldn't want you hiding from the world.”

“I'm not
hiding
from the world.” Molly blew out a frustrated burst of air, hating the defensive note in her voice. “I'm serving a family in need.”

George would understand. He would even encourage her. An itinerant preacher, his personal mission had been to help the less fortunate. Before he'd contracted the fever that ultimately killed him, George had shared a love of serving others side by side with Molly.

Her marriage had been a happy one. Until Molly failed to provide her husband with the one thing he wanted most—a child. She'd been bitterly disappointed over her failure as a wife. George's resentment had only added to her shame.

If her mother knew the truth, Molly was certain she'd give her words of comfort, the kind meant to heal her troubled heart. But Molly didn't want sympathy. She certainly didn't want to discuss her secret shame.

Anything but that
.

She stood straighter, lifted her chin and attempted a second time to step around her mother.

Helen Carson moved directly into her path. “It's been six months since Penelope became ill and died. Surely there is someone else who can care for her daughters.”

“There is no one else.”

Besides, Molly had given her friend her word. Even if she hadn't made a promise, the twins needed a woman's influence in their lives. They had their father, yet even after six months he was still absorbed in his own grief. And lately, Molly had noticed him distancing himself from his daughters, barely going through the motions of being a parent.

Their uncle sometimes stepped in and filled the void. Molly admired him for that—oh, how, she admired him—but CJ had his hands full running the Triple-T ranch.

“If you won't listen to reason,” her mother said, “then at least consider taking Daisy with you.”

“You need her here.”

Her mother opened her mouth to argue.

Molly cut her off. “Please try to understand. Until Ned marries again, or another solution presents itself, I will honor my promise to Penelope. If our roles were reversed, she would do the same for me.”

“I can't help but think there's something you're not telling me, some reason you're not sharing with me.”

“The twins need me.” What woman didn't want to be needed, especially one who couldn't have children of her own? “I should think that reason enough.”

“Molly, won't you please be honest with me?”

“It's nearly dawn.” She looked pointedly at the band of gray riding low on the horizon. “The girls will be awake soon.”

This time, when Molly made for the back door, her mother pulled her into a fierce hug. “As soon as you're ready to tell me what's troubling you, I'll be here to listen.”

“There's nothing troubling me.” She stepped out of the embrace. “Other than my concern for two small children.”

With her mother's sigh of resignation ringing in her ears, Molly hurried out of the house. She made quick work of saddling Sadie, the ten-year-old gray mare born the same year as Molly's youngest brother, Donny.

Halfway between her family's large spread and the much smaller Triple-T ranch, Molly felt the tension in her shoulders melt away. A soft flutter of air stirred the leaves of the Texas oaks nestled in a small grove on her left. She breathed in, smelled the faint scents of sassafras and wild cherry.

Molly loved this time of morning, when night slowly surrendered to day and everything felt new again. When possibilities stretched before her and the future didn't feel so hopeless.

Rolling Hills ranch was the largest cattle operation in the area. Tall, rugged bluffs peppered the landscape as far as the eye could see. The green leaves of cottonwood trees shared space with large granite and limestone rocks. The sound of water sloshing on the lakeshore near the edge of her parents' property accompanied a bobwhite's distinctive whistle.

A movement in the distance caught her attention. Narrowing her eyes, she watched a horse and rider race across a flat patch of land. The man's slouched posture was at odds with the magnificence of the black stallion beneath him.

Molly's stomach dropped.

She knew that horse, and the rider. But the two did not belong together. Why hadn't Ned taken his own gelding? What was he doing with his brother's horse?

No one rode Thunder but CJ. The animal was too valuable to be mishandled and...

Molly had a terrible, awful feeling about this.

Please, Lord, let me be wrong.
The evidence suggested otherwise. She should have seen this coming.

Why hadn't she put the pieces together before now?

Ned had become increasingly morose in recent weeks, muttering things under his breath such as “What's the use?” and “I can't keep doing this.” Molly hadn't thoroughly understood what he meant and she certainly hadn't wanted to overstep her bounds. After all, she was helping out the Thorn family in a temporary capacity.

Another unsettling thought occurred. Surely Ned hadn't left the twins alone in the house.

What if he had?

Molly wrapped her arms around Sadie's neck. “Come on, old girl.” She gave a gentle kick to the mare's ribs. “I need you to run faster than you ever have before.”

The horse responded with a burst of speed. Once they were on Thorn land, Molly urged Sadie to a trot, guiding her past the outbuildings, around the corral and on to the main house, a simple, one-story, whitewashed clapboard structure.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed smoke coming from the bunkhouse, a sure sign Cookie had already started making breakfast for the handful of ranch hands CJ employed.

Was CJ eating with the hands, as he did every morning? Was he even aware his brother had left the main house?

Molly pulled Sadie to a halt and scrambled off the horse's back. She hurried onto the porch she and the girls had swept clean yesterday afternoon. Without bothering to knock, she rushed inside the house.

Thick gloom closed in around her. The silence was so heavy she decided the children were surely still asleep.

The children
.

Molly must get to Anna and Sarah. She must ensure they were safe. She moved deeper into the house and froze when she caught a faint whiff of whiskey.
Oh, Ned
.

The situation was far worse than Molly had feared, and certainly explained Ned's increasing unpredictability. Her friend's husband had evidently turned to the bottle to swallow his grief. Unfortunately, consuming alcohol was not a wise solution.

Heart in her throat, Molly blinked through the darkness. Her vision slowly cleared, then locked on the tall silhouette of a familiar figure.

A ripple of longing flowed through her before she ruthlessly shut it down.

CJ Thorn stood before her, silent, his eyes on the piece of paper in his hand. His features were inscrutable in the dim light cast by the lamp on the table beside him, but Molly knew every line and curve by heart.

She knew every precious angle of his handsome face, the strong, square jaw and the dark eyebrows slashed over eyes the color of freshly brewed coffee. He was more than merely good-looking. He was a man of integrity and one who'd worked hard to keep his brother from following in their father's footsteps.

Ned had taken to whiskey, anyway. CJ must be so disappointed.

“CJ?” She gently touched his sleeve.

He looked up. Blinked. Then blinked again, as if he hadn't expected to find her standing so close.

“I saw Ned riding away from the ranch.” She waited a beat, then supplied the rest of the bad news. “He was on your horse.”

Surprise flared in his eyes. “Ned took Thunder?”

She nodded.

Anger replaced the earlier shock, followed by such sorrow Molly could actually feel the weight of the emotion in her own heart. The vulnerable expression made him more compelling than usual.

CJ Thorn was not a man who needed to be more compelling than usual.

The children
, she told herself. Anna and Sarah must come first. With the twins in mind, Molly released CJ's arm and stepped back.

* * *

In the predawn gloom, CJ tried to focus on the woman standing beside him. But his mind kept returning to Ned and the terrible choice his brother had made.

No matter how hard CJ fought to keep his breathing steady, his gut roiled with regret. This was the moment he'd been dreading for weeks, when his brother gave up completely.

Rage boiled into something CJ couldn't begin to name. Ned had not only made his escape on CJ's prize stallion, he'd not only abandoned his own children, but he'd left the girls alone in the house. Any number of things could have happened to them.

Even for Ned, that was an all-time low. What was next? Cattle rustling? Bank robbery?

For months, CJ had held out hope that the worst of Ned's grief was behind him. He'd prayed that his younger brother was on the brink of returning to the man he'd been while Penelope was alive.

Obviously, that had been wishful thinking.

All the emotion CJ had been holding back threatened to spill over, filling him until he thought he might explode.

“Is that a note from Ned?” Molly's voice seemed to come at him through a thick wall of water.

He gave a brief nod before returning his gaze to the hastily scrawled note. The handwriting was messy, the message even messier.

Ned had always preferred the easier tasks on the ranch, but he'd been a decent man at the core. Penelope had brought out the best in him. Since her death, Ned had slipped deeper and deeper into despair.

CJ thought he'd be able to save Ned, given time.

Time had just run out.

“CJ, did you hear me?”

He lifted his head and glanced once again at the woman he'd grown to rely on far more than he cared to admit. “Ned took off.”