In His Eyes(22)

Silence settled as the neighbors studied her, but Ella forced herself to remain confident under their scrutiny. Just when she began to fear they would call her out as a liar, both women gave a solemn nod.

“Atrocities,” Miss Martin whispered.

“Yes,” Ella agreed. Nothing more needed to be stated, as everyone knew the terror slathered upon the South, and such things need not be named in good company.

After several moments of strained silence, Mrs. Martin finally spoke. “So you then changed your loyalties?” She took a sip from her cup, and the neighborly charade continued.

“In a manner of speaking,” Ella hedged.

“You certainly must have enamored Mr. Remington,” Miss Martin quipped as she plucked a small tart from the tray. “I cannot imagine he married anyone with Southern sympathies, as devout as he was to the Northern invasion.”

Mrs. Martin bobbed her head. “Indeed.”

Sensing her mistake, Ella gave herself a moment to think under the guise of taking a small bite from a tiny shortbread.

As though remembering something important, Miss Martin glanced up sharply. “We are, of course, quite sorry for your loss.”

“I thank you.”

Her pink lips turned up, giving light to a pretty, refined face. “You must have loved him quite dearly to overcome such differences.”

Having been provided a way out of her misstep, Ella tried her hand at a mournful smile. “You are quite right. We married in a flurry of emotions, such as can happen when one wonders if they will have many more days upon the earth.”

Mrs. Martin narrowed her eyes, and once more Ella realized she had opened a door that would require further explanation, so she hurried on. “However, if you do not find it too terribly ill-mannered of me, such wounds are a bit too fresh to discuss at the moment.”

Miss Martin’s eyes swam with compassion, and Ella couldn’t help but like her. “You are right, of course.” She offered an apologetic smile. “We shouldn’t allow our curiosity to fringe upon your mourning.”

“Though without you donning widow’s blacks, we can understandably be forgiven.” Mrs. Martin glanced down Ella’s dress with disapproval.

Having been prepared for this particular question, Ella waved her hand airily. “Of course. I do hope you will forgive me, but I have just now allowed my maid to begin fashioning a widow’s dress. What with the baby and all, I wanted to wait for proper measurements.”

Mrs. Martin opened her mouth to reply, but Ella silenced her with soft spoken words. “And, I too long held out hope he would return.” She put a hitch in her voice. “Although it has now become painfully clear such hopes are not to be realized.”

The older woman, having enough manners to withdraw her criticism, gave a small sigh. “Oh, of course, my dear Mrs. Remington. We are quite sorry for your pain. It is a bitter taste all of us have been forced to partake of late.”

Lee squirmed in the cradle, his soft coos drawing their attention. Grateful for a distraction as much as the comfort of him, Ella scooped him up and positioned him in the crook of her arm.

Miss Martin leaned a bit closer, her desire to see the child evident. Ella smiled. “Would you care to hold him, Miss Martin?”

“Please, you must call me Opal.” She reached for Lee. “We are neighbors, after all, and I am sure we will be the best of friends.”

Something fluttered inside Ella at the thought of someone wishing to be her friend, but she pushed it aside. The woman, who looked to be merely a few years shy of her own age, surely only spoke the words out of good manners. Experience had taught Ella that fine ladies often said things in the name of propriety they didn’t truly mean. For some reason, none of them thought to name such things lying.

“Of course, Opal.” Ella handed over her child. “And please do call me Eleanor, as I do so look forward to our getting to know one another better.”

Eleanor, not Ella. She still regretted letting Sibby in on her shortened name. Though she’d never been ashamed of it before, in this peculiar circumstance it somehow made her feel less like she belonged than did Eleanor.

“A fine child, Mrs. Remington.” Opal stroked his tiny hand. “How old is he?”

“He is just over three weeks old,” Ella said, remembering Sibby’s instructions.

“That old already?” Mrs. Martin scoffed. “Why, he hardly looks it.”

Ella lifted her shoulders, not sure what explanation she could give. The woman couldn’t possibly be able to tell the child’s age with such precision, could she? Ella didn’t know, so she thought it best to keep quiet.

“And, my, I would have thought we would have seen you arrive some time ago.” Mrs. Martin tapped her chin as though she’d just thought of it, but Ella suspected she’d been waiting for the opportunity to voice such things. “Surely you did not travel during the final months of your expectancy…?”

Ella’s heart began to hammer. “Well, I….”

Just then the door swung open, pulling everyone’s attention to Sibby whom Ella assumed had been listening from the entry. “Excuse me, ladies,” Sibby said. “But I has got to speak to the missus.”

Mrs. Martin sniffed. “As you can see, she is indisposed.”

Ella pressed her lips into a line. Did she agree with her guest or with Sibby? Thankfully, Lee chose that moment to let out a high-pitched wail.