Counterfeit Courtship. Christina Miller

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.

      Graham’s grimace might have meant he thought any trouble Susanna could cause would be minor compared to Ellie’s plan.

      She snatched his arm and pulled him closer to the gaslight to see his face better. “I know what that look meant. I’m doing only what you asked me to do—helping you get rid of the girls. They aren’t bothering you now, are they? Think what tonight would have been like if I hadn’t done as you asked.”

      In the brighter light, his eyes blazed like the flame. “I shouldn’t have hung the distress flag. I should have camped out in the old hideout until the party was over.”

      So much had happened that day, it seemed she had seen the signal last week rather than twelve