In His Eyes(40)
Westley palmed the loathsome cane and pushed to his feet, slowly making his way closer to the portal that separated him from the odd woman on the other side. Bare soles hardly making a sound, he pressed his ear to the door.
“Miss Ella, there ain’t nothin’ I can do.”
“I can’t leave him, Sibby.”
“If you take him, who gonna feed him? You sure ’nough can’t do it.”
A small sob broke through the plains of the door and lanced him. The muscle in his jaw convulsed. How could he, in good conscience, separate mother and child? Or worse, toss them out so that both might starve? What had happened that she could not nurse her child?
“Come with me then, Sibby.”
Westley tried to shield himself against the desperate words, but they only sank farther into his resolve.
“Can’t do that, neither. Got too many people here that needs me.”
“I cannot….”
The words dissolved and Westley pressed his ear closer.
“I cannot lose the only one I have.”
The pain in the woman’s voice rallied a long forgotten desire to protect, and Westley groaned. The whispers on the other side of the door carried a frantic tone, then moved away. He set his teeth against the ache in his leg and moved across the room to endure the tribulation of dressing.
He’d donned his trousers and linen shirt when the expected knock came at the door to the upper hall. “Suh?” Sibby said loudly enough to be heard through the closed door.
Westley fastened the top button. “Yes, Sibby?”
“You be needin’ any help?”
“No.”
A prolonged silence. “I got food made, if you wants any.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, noting that it now curled above his ears and called, “Thank you, I shall be down shortly.”
A thought gripped him and he hobbled to the door. When he opened it, Sibby still stood on the other side, as though she had no intention of moving on while he finished his morning ablutions. He studied her a moment. “I’d like Miss Whitaker to join me for breakfast. We have things to discuss.”
Sibby shot a glance to his mother’s bedchamber. “I’ll asks her, suh, but….”
“But what?”
Sibby lifted her shoulders. “I think she already know what you is goin’ to say.”
Westley arched his eyebrows. “Oh? And who read my thoughts and conveyed them to her?”
Sibby crossed her arms. “Ain’t like it’s hard to see that you don’t want her here. And ’sides, she done said you told her she can’t stay.”
That he had. He shifted the cane. “I have a few more questions for her. Then I will make my decision.”
Sibby pressed her lips tight and studied him for a moment. Finally, she shrugged. “All right.” She started to turn back toward the rose room.
“Sibby?”
“Yeah?”
“Last evening. When I said I was master, I didn’t intend it to be taken as you thought.”
She eyed him cautiously. “What you mean, then?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. There was a time he would have reprimanded a servant for speaking to him in such a disrespectful manner. But such trivialities mattered little in light of all she had endured. “I wanted for the comfort my father’s bed provided. And as I am now the owner of this house, I thought it my due to sleep in the master’s chamber. My meaning did not extend beyond that.”
Her shoulders lowered. “Oh. I, uh, thank you, suh.”
“I consider all those that reside at Belmont under my protection.” He allowed meaning to weigh his words.
“What ’bout Miss Ella?”
He ignored the question and asked one of his own. “Who has been taking care of you since my father died?”
Sibby’s gaze fell to Westley’s boots. “We been takin’ care of ourselves.”
“We?”
She shifted her weight. “Me, Basil, Nat, and…a few others.”
He narrowed his gaze. Did the woman avoid a direct answer on purpose? He opened his mouth to prod her to speak further, but the protest of hinges drew his attention to the right.
Miss Whitaker poked her head out of the door, caught sight of him, and darted back within.
“Miss Whitaker!”
She looked out once more, red-rimmed emerald eyes wide. “Yes?”
“I would like for you to accompany me to breakfast.”
Her delicate eyebrows joined ranks. “Why?”
He suppressed a smile that seemed to want to surface whenever this contradictory woman was near. “So that we may both be nourished.”
She tilted her head and her sunset hair with its red, copper, and gold tones shimmering, caressed her cheek. “I mean, why do you wish to eat with me?”
He grunted. “I should think that obvious. I desire your company.”
Pink tinged her cheeks. “Oh.”
Westley narrowed his gaze. Something did not fit about this woman. She’d known men, and yet blushed at simple statements and hid her partially clothed form. He gestured toward the stairs. “Shall we?”
She looked to Sibby as though she required permission from the servant woman. Westley cut his eyes to see Sibby give Miss Whitaker a nod of approval before she spun around and hurried down the stairs.