In His Eyes(27)

Ella didn’t know. All she knew is that she felt tired, alone, and flustered. She was frustrated with having to lie to women who looked down on her even though she wore fancy clothes and tried her best to fit in. Papa had been right. Never would she be good enough for the likes of them.

Ella slipped into her room and through to the nursery and spied Lee sleeping peacefully. Her heart lurched. She must remember to keep these emotions under control. Ever they sought to undo her, no matter how diligently she sought to control them with logic.

She turned to find Sibby staring at her from the doorway. “You all right?”

“I’m fine.” She moved to slip past Sibby. “Now, if you don’t mind, I should get out of this dress and get to work dusting the library.”

“Humph. Done told you there ain’t no need for you to be doin’ all that.”

Ella set her teeth but refused the temptation to send cutting words to Sibby. Heavens, what had gotten in to her?

Sibby’s voice softened. “I know them women can be tough.”

Ella stilled. Feeling some of the fire go out of her, she dropped her chin. “You listened at the door.”

“Yep.” Sibby came around to stand in front of her. “Good thing, too, else you might’ve gotten you self into more of a mess.”

Logic warned the words were true, even if her emotions demanded she defend herself. “I decided it best to have to lie as little as possible.”

Sibby seemed to consider Ella’s words, but then shook her head. “They was too suspicious.”

“So?” Ella dug through the wardrobe for her work dress. “What does it matter? They can dislike me all they wish.”

Sibby grunted. “And if they start talkin’ to other folks, saying they don’t believe you is Mr. Westley’s wife?”

“Then they can talk.”

Sibby groaned. “Give them soldiers one reason to make us get out and they is goin’ to take it.”

“On the gossiping words of women?” Ella flung the dress on the bed. “Pish.”

“They take any excuse they get to take stuff from folks. Done seen it.”

“Oh?” She lifted her eyebrows. “Is that so?”

“You think I’s lyin’?”

“Well, one thing their suspicions are right about. This house didn’t get razed. Why?”

Sibby threw a glance at the high ceiling. “They flew the United States flag and Mr. Westley was a Federal Major.”

“Hump.” Ella crossed her arms. “Then they would have been looted by desperate Confederates.”

“Flew Confederate, too.”

Ella gaped at her. Impossible.

“Sure ’nough did.” Sibby bobbed her head, once more speaking to Ella as though she were a child. “And folks round here knew why. They all respected Mr. Remington.”

“Who would have been a traitor to both sides?”

“Who done loved his South and his son.” She looked over Ella. “But if you asks me, I say it was all them prayers Mrs. Remington sent up. If ever a woman had hold of God’s ear, was her.”

Ella pondered the words, and could find nothing to refute them. That both armies had left not only the house but all the contents alone was evidence enough that Sibby’s words held true.

“Now. We need to talk about what you done said to them….”

Sibby’s words trailed off with a loud knock to the door. Both women froze and stared at one another. The heavy knock sounded again, stirring them to action.

By the time they reached the front door, a third round of knocks made Ella’s blood pound. Who could be so insistent at the door?

Sibby threw the door open. On the other side, a young man of no more years than Nat stood with his fist raised to pound once more. He lowered his arm to the side of his Yank uniform, then straightened himself.

“Good afternoon.” His eyes darted past Sibby and landed on Ella, who was glad she still wore a lady’s gown.

Ella tried to hold back her frustration. She’d told Sibby they needed a plan for the fields! And here the Yanks had come already, and she had nothing. She scrambled for any lie she could find as she stepped closer to the door, but lost all her thoughts to the man’s next words.

“I have come bearing a message that these lands are to be forfeit unless the taxes are paid in full.”





Westley stood by the hearth, dressed in a pair of faded trousers and a linen shirt provided to him by Mrs. Preston. Where she’d come by them, he didn’t know, nor did he ask. Had he a cravat and vest, he might almost feel properly dressed. As it were, he would have to receive his company in naught but his shirtsleeves. But then, at least he wasn’t in a nightshirt, still abed. His walking had improved to the point she allowed him to dress and move around the chamber.

A tap came at the door, and Westley gripped the top of his cane a bit tighter. “Enter!”

The doctor strode in, and on his heels followed a short, spindly man with an oversized moustache. The doctor, whom he had learned was a captain by the name of Albright, stroked his beard as he studied Westley.

“Well, I see you have gained your feet, Major Remington.”

“Indeed, I have, Doctor.” And soon he would be free of this cane as well.

“That is good.” The look in his blue eyes stated he distrusted Westley’s ability to move about on his own. He motioned to the man who came to stand at his side. “This is Corporal Nelson.”