In His Eyes(11)

Without waiting for Ella’s response, the girl spun around and scuttled away. Ella drew a breath and stepped into the room. Every bit as elegant as downstairs, the room featured a crib with netting, a rocking chair, a thick rug, and a washing tub. Such luxury! The little one would be cared for, sure enough.

Her gaze landed on the woman who rocked the babe in the chair. Up close, she looked younger than Ella had thought. Trim and strong-looking, she had short, tight black curls, a nose that flared at the tip, and dark eyes that studied Ella as boldly as Ella studied her.

Ella looked down at the little one, her hand fluttering to her chest as though it already missed his presence. “How is he?”

“He be just fine, now that his belly’s full.”

Ella let out her breath. “Oh, thank goodness. Cynthia said I could find a wet nurse here.”

The woman, whom the little girl had called Sibby, rocked slowly, snuggling the child with experienced arms. “And here I was almost out of milk. Been ’bout a week now since I helped with one of my people’s babies, but now she done started weaning, and she was the last of ’em. We ain’t got no other babies about what needs me.”

Ella clasped her hands. “Will you be able to care for him?”

The woman’s deep brown eyes studied her. “Who is you, anyway?”

Seizing an opportunity to appear more than a farm girl with no prospects and no security, she straightened her spine and decided to take on her full name, a name that had passed no one’s lips since her mother had died. “I’m Miss Eleanor Whitaker. I was present during the birth of the child.” Her eyes dropped down from Sibby’s knowing gaze for fear that the woman already saw through her sham. “His mother did not survive the birthing.”

Sibby stared at her for so long Ella began to fear the nurse would cast her out of Belmont. Then, finally, she gestured toward the single person bed. “Sit, and tell me what done happened.”

Ella sat, glad for a place to rest her weak legs. She released her story in a gush, as though the words burned within her, keeping her eyes on the patterned rug underneath the nurse’s scuffed boots. She didn’t look up until she had finished the tale.

When she did, the other woman, whom Ella guessed to be about her own age or perhaps only a bit older offered her an encouraging smile. “Yeah, I remember them two. I nursed Cynthia’s sister’s baby until the missus found him a place at the orphanage.”

“Cynthia said that the Remingtons were known for helping girls like that.”

Sibby’s features softened, and compassion shone in her eyes. “You one of those girls?”

Ella wrapped her arms around herself. How close had she been to becoming one? That night came back to her, but she forcefully shoved it aside. “No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

What use was it to try to appear anything more than she truly was? Naught but a farm girl turned scullery maid. “I earned my keep in the kitchen.”

“I figured somethin’ like that.”

Ella found that to be something of a comfort, and the breath left her.

“I’m Sibby, but Basil done told you that.”

Ella smiled. “Sweet girl.”

“Where is you from?”

“Woodville. Southern part of Mississippi, getting close to Louisiana.”

“Confederate?”

The question surprised her, though Ella didn’t know why. Of course this woman would want to know who she sided with. Hadn’t everyone? Ella shrugged. “In some ways, yes. Not in others.”

Sibby frowned, so Ella hurried with an explanation. “Papa never did care who bought our horses as long as they had money. Once we even had a colored man in a fine suit from up north buy six of our colts. And we never had any slaves, just a few poor farm boys who worked the horses and kept the stalls. We did everything else on our own.” She looked at Sibby earnestly. “I never did think one person ought to own another, though.”

“Hmm.” Sibby regarded her for several moments. “But still Confederate?”

Ella stiffened, but saw no reason not to tell the truth. “If I had to say one way or the other, then yes.”

“Why?”

Ella tilted her head. This woman seemed nothing like what Papa said slaves were—skittish as an unhandled colt and as bright as a barn cat. And she was certainly quite bold. Ella liked that about her. “Well, I felt in my own heart that the country should stay together, even though the entire thing was really about money and the fact that the North needed the raw supplies from the South to support their factories—couldn’t go adding foreign taxes and the like. Then the slavery aspect became part of it, and I figured that was a good thing, too. The South wouldn’t have let go of their workers without some persuasion.”

Sibby grunted. “Sounds loyalist to me.”

“But then they invaded our lands, burned our crops, and pillaged our homes. They stole our horses, our livestock, and even our furniture. A confiscation act, they called it. I called it robbery. It became not a war between armies, but an assault that settled not on soldiers, but on women and children. They attacked those most vulnerable, leaving regular people destitute, starving, and desperate.” Ella shook her head firmly. “No. I could not side with people like that.”

Silence settled and they sat beneath its weight for some time. Ella felt certain the woman wanted to ask her to leave, and Ella couldn’t bring herself to offer to go, as would be proper, so they continued a stalemate that she knew she would eventually crumble beneath. She simply couldn’t deny the ache in her chest that begged her once more to hold the boy. No matter her dignity, she would not give up hope of finding employ here, where perhaps she would not suffer men’s attentions and the baby could remain near. She would beg to stay, if that’s what it took.