In His Eyes(23)

“Oh!” Opal said, stretching the child out to Ella. “I am afraid he has become unsettled.”

“I shall take him.” Ella scooped up the boy and stood. “Ladies, I must beg your forgiveness.” Lee began to cry in earnest and she started to bounce him, raising her voice in order to be heard. “But I must tend to him, and I find I am quite tired. Please, may we schedule another visit when perhaps I am more recovered?”

Mrs. Martin slowly gained her feet, every movement about her refined and polished. Lee increased his volume, his sweet little face turning an angry red. Ella bit her lower lip. Goodness he had grown upset quickly! Ella glanced at Sibby, who gave a slight shake of her head. Ella should not relinquish him so he might eat? Ah, no, then she would be free to visit.

“Shush, my darling. Just a moment,” Ella said, stepping toward the door. “Ladies, I have so enjoyed the visit, but fear my son will no longer wait.”

“Oh, we do understand.” Opal stood beside her mother. “Don’t we, Mama?”

The other woman nodded, though she didn’t look convinced.

Lee’s cries grew fierce, so Ella hurried to the door, calling over her shoulder, “Sibby will see you out. Another time, ladies. Thank you again for calling.”

The two stared after her as she scurried from the room in a gait that neither glided nor seemed lady-like, but that all the faster saw Ella away from their stares. As she found the solitude of her chamber above, a breath of relief went from her. “There now, Lee. That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?”

The poor child gulped air, his cries having been ignored long enough that he punctuated them with hiccupping sounds. “Oh, darling. I’m so sorry.” Had he been born of her own body, she would be equipped to care for him without depending on another.

She rocked him in her arms as best she could as he continued to cry, her heart pierced by her inability to soothe him. Finally, footsteps sounded on the stairs and Sibby appeared, scooping the child away without a word and disappearing into the nursery. After a moment, Lee’s screams quieted. Ella wrapped her arms around herself, wishing that she were the one he depended on.

Sibby had the milk he needed, and he would likely attach to her even more than he did to Ella. She tried not to entertain thoughts that roused irrational jealousy, and strove to bury them under logic. If Sibby did not have milk for him, he could have starved. How selfish of her to wish she didn’t need Sibby’s help.

A new thought surfaced, and Ella wondered what had happened to Sibby’s own child. She must have had one, otherwise she would not have milk to offer other children.

But she would have to ponder that another time. For now, the strain of strangers, falsehoods, and Lee’s cries had wearied her in a way that concerned soul rather than body.

She paced the room, but that only furthered the unease building in her chest until it bloomed into a need to escape…to find freedom outside of the confinement of the house.

Deciding she could use time to herself, and needing to put off Sibby’s scolding for later when she might be better prepared to take it, Ella slipped quietly from the room. Her feet felt heavy upon the stairs. She trudged down to the first floor then pulled open the rear door, allowing fresh air to stir the hair about her face. Ella drew a deep breath and exited the house, stepping onto the long porch that stretched across both wings of Belmont.

A few moments only, she told herself as she rounded the cistern. Yes, surely a few moments will be fine, she reasoned as she passed the smokehouse. Then her fingers lifted the edges of her skirt and she began to venture out past the edges of the yard.





“I grow weary of soup, Woman,” Westley said, the growl in his voice matching the one roused by his appetite. He’d eaten two bowls today already, and still they did not satisfy his stomach.

“Hmm.” Mrs. Preston bobbed her head, once again not taking offense to Westley’s mood. “I suppose your body is sucking it up too fast. I’ll cook up one of the chickens for dinner and get some more meat in you.”

His stomach rumbled again. “And until then?”

She laughed. “Men sure grow ornery when they’re hungry.”

Westley gave her a flat stare.

“Fine, fine. I’ve some bread fresh from the oven.” She straightened the coverlet over him. “You stay here, and I will fetch it with a bit of cheese.”

Westley narrowed his eyes. “And if I would rise?”

Mrs. Preston made a show of an exaggerated sigh. “Then I suppose your refreshment would have to wait while I made sure you could make it across the room.”

Beaten, Westley leaned back against the pillows. “Very well. After, then.”

Mrs. Preston crossed her arms. “You are a stubborn fellow, you know it?”

Amusement lifted his lips. “I’ve been informed of it a time or two.”

“Humph.”

She left him in peace, and as soon as her ample form no longer warmed the room, he fell back into that worrisome place of self-loathing. Try as he might to shake the feeling, it ever more pressed upon him.

What has happened to me? Is there no way to be rid of these dark thoughts?

His gaze drifted to the book on the small table next to the chair at the hearth, and he heard his mother’s voice as surely as she stood in the room with him. The word of the Lord offers both instruction and comfort, my son.