“You have no choice.”
The boy lifted, then lowered one bony shoulder. “That’s nothin’ new to me.”
Cal strolled out, then clomped back down the stairs. Interesting that he’d approached with all the stealth of a Rebel sniper, yet couldn’t seem to return the same way.
Seth knew very little about children and even less about babies. But he could learn. Why he didn’t just hire a nanny, a housekeeper and a governess, instruct that the bills be sent to him, and hightail it back to Boston immediately, Seth wasn’t sure. He’d have to eventually, but right now he wanted to stay.
Ever since he’d returned from the war he’d felt adrift, as if he had no purpose and no future, even though he did. Or at least he’d had one assigned to him.
But the idea of making weapons sickened him. His mother thought he’d get over it. Seth wasn’t so sure.
However, he was sure of one thing. His friend had trusted him with all he held dear. Everyone thought Henry had lost his mind. Seth wasn’t going to prove them right by betraying that trust. Together he and Henry had learned about honor, duty, and friendship. They might have lost touch with each other, but they had never lost touch with that.
***
Three days later, Seth felt as if he’d refought the Battle of Gettysburg. He was hot and dirty; he smelled. He hadn’t eaten decently or slept the night through since he’d arrived. How could five children get the better of a hardened Union officer?
He wasn’t exactly sure when he’d lost control. Was it when he’d changed Gaby’s diaper that first day, thrilled to have accomplished the simple task, only to lift the child and have the cloth fall to the floor? Gaby had giggled and promptly wet on his socks.
Or maybe it had been when he’d gotten them both cleaned and clothed, then hurried downstairs, intent on making breakfast for the rest of the children.
Entering the kitchen, he cheerfully called out, “What shall I have for breakfast?”
The two little girls had burst into terrified tears.
Seth fought the urge to run back the way he had come. “What did I say?”
Cal shrugged. Joshua appeared uncomfortable. The girls continued to wail. Gaby joined in.
“Are you ill?” he questioned. “Does something hurt?”
“N-noooo,” Elizabeth cried.
“Then what is it?”
But the girls were too little to articulate what had scared them so badly.
“Ah, I’m gonna milk the goat,” Cal snapped and disappeared.
After that, things really got loud. Seth had fought in many battles. He’d triumphed with death all around him. But the shrieking of the girls, which seemed to hit unknown levels of sound, made him more edgy than facing a Rebel charge.
“What is the matter with you?” he demanded.
They stopped crying, drew in deep, deep breaths. Seth learned quickly; he knew what was coming. Obviously Joshua did, too, because he clapped his hands over his ears seconds before the girls let out a full-bodied howl. For lack of anything better to do, Seth jiggled the baby. Joshua pressed on his ears harder. The girls kept screaming.
Finally, the boy opened one eye, then another. He stared at Seth with a pitying expression, then lowered his hands with a wince and climbed off his chair. After crossing the room, he tugged on Seth’s trousers and beckoned him closer. Then he whispered in his ear, “Cal told them that Yankees eat little Reb girls for breakfast.”
Seth straightened. Well, no wonder they’d started screaming the minute he’d asked what was for breakfast.
When Cal came back with the baby’s milk, Seth made the boy set his sisters straight. Still they looked at him as if he were an ogre—or maybe just the enemy.
The rest of that day and the next passed in a blur of crying, cleaning, and chaos.
By the third day, they needed supplies. Since Seth couldn’t very well leave Cal in charge of the little ones—by the time he got back they’d think Seth was Satan himself—he loaded all five children into the wagon.
The trip wasn’t one of his better ideas. Delia and Elizabeth couldn’t seem to grasp that they shouldn’t stand up in the wagon. They fell over and bumped various body parts several times. The rattling of the wagon kept Gaby awake—not that she slept much during the day … or any time, he was beginning to think.
Joshua was so excited, he couldn’t sit still. His wiggling made Seth’s horse more nervous than pulling the wagon already had. Cal just smirked the entire way. Seth soon found out why.
The girls had never seen a store before. They ran wildly through the aisles. Elizabeth knocked over a tower of tin cans. Delia yanked a sack of flower off the countertop before he could stop her. It exploded against the floor, covering her with white powder. She laughed and began to dance in the dust.
Joshua tried to help pick up the cans and dropped one on his toe. He didn’t howl, but large, slow tears dripped down his cheeks.
Cal continued to smirk. Seth jiggled the baby. The storekeeper filled their order and hustled them out in a hurry.
Before the man could slap the rump of Seth’s horse and send them on their way, Seth asked, “Do you know of a wet nurse I could hire for the baby?”
The storekeeper glanced at the children, then back at Seth. He spat into the dirt beneath the horse’s hooves. Remembering the greeting he’d received from Billy the first night he’d ridden into Winchester, Seth wondered if that was the way folks in Winchester said, “Howdy.”
“Can’t say I know of anyone who’d work for a Yankee,” the man said.
Seth blinked. “But it’s not for me. It’s for the baby of Henry Elliot.”
“Who was killed by such as you. No one’s gonna come out there and help, ’specially a woman. You can put that right out of yer head.”
“If you feel that way, then why did you sell me supplies?” Seth asked.
The man shrugged. “Gotta make a livin’. Only folks with money these days are Yankee scum carpetbaggers. Better the money’s in my pocket than yours.”
Cal snickered. Seth glared. The shopkeeper looked pleased with himself.
Seth drove home wondering what he’d gotten into. He needed help. He could not take care of five children alone. But if the storekeeper was correct, he wouldn’t be able to get any help. If he couldn’t, he’d have to take the children back to Boston with him.
Seth cringed at the thought of showing up on his mother’s doorstep with five ragtag Rebel youngsters. She’d treat them like servants; she wouldn’t be able to help herself. Their accents alone would ensure none of the children their age would play nice. They’d be clean, fed, clothed, and educated, but they’d be miserable.
He glanced at Gaby, sleeping momentarily in Cal’s arms. He couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t do it to any one of them.
They approached the farm, which was silent and still, empty but for the goat and the cow. Delia began to cry. “Want Ella!”
“Me, too.” Elizabeth’s lower lip trembled.
Joshua blinked, hard and fast, then ducked his head to hide his face.
Gaby awoke and began to wail. Cal dumped her in Seth’s lap and took off. Seth sat on the buckboard with weeping children all around him and admitted defeat. He had to have help. No one would help him.
Except maybe … Ella.
He’d have to beg. Probably offer her the stars.
At that instant Delia, still covered with flour which had mixed with sweat from the long, hot ride, as well as her tears, leaned against his side. She stuck there like glue.
Suddenly the stars didn’t seem too high a price to pay at all.
Four
Ella couldn’t sleep. The moon shone directly into her eyes through the open roof of the barn. Not that she’d have been able to sleep even if the moon had been new. She missed the children so badly she ached with it.
Three days had passed. Three days! She hadn’t believed Seth Torrance would last through one.
She’d crept over to the Elliot farm several t
imes, careful to stay out of sight lest the children see her and cry. She didn’t want to upset them, but she had to be certain they weren’t hurt or worse. She had to make sure Torrance didn’t pack them up and take them away. If he did, she’d follow and she’d take them back any way she could.
Ella stroked the barrel of the shotgun, which she kept by her side always. A woman couldn’t be too careful.
As if in answer to that thought, footsteps dragged through the brush outside her resting place. Ella sat up slowly and, taking the gun with her, crept to one of the many holes in the side of the barn.
The moonlight revealed the waste that had once been the Fontaine homestead. The house had been burned to the ground soon after Chancellorsville, when Federal troops retreated willy-nilly across the state. Ella recalled watching it burn as her mother and her father mourned the loss of Stonewall Jackson in that very same battle. The great general had housed his headquarters at Winchester, and the townsfolk adored him. When he’d died after losing an arm, then succumbing to pneumonia, everyone had draped their windows in black for a month.
“The South has won a victory,” her father said, “but the loss of that one man may prove too great.”
He’d been right, but he hadn’t lived long enough to know that. Thank goodness. He’d joined the army soon after, and within the year, both he and Ella’s mother had followed General Jackson across the river to rest beneath the trees.
Their gravestones sprang from the ground behind the ruins of the house, a constant reminder of what Ella must never forget. They had died at the hands of the enemy, the same as her fiancé, Jamie McMurray, the same as Henry Elliot and countless others.
Perhaps even herself, if this heavy-footed intruder proved to be another foe. So far she’d been able to scare off the scum with the sight of her gun alone, but one day she’d probably have to shoot someone, and then she’d better kill him. She knew what happened to Southern girls when they crossed a Yankee these days. She’d rather die than be an enemy plaything.
Ella pressed her lips together and cocked her gun. A bird flushed from the trees, startling her. But she held steady on the trigger.
Unfortunately, the intruder shifted course and approached from the front of the barn. She heard the footsteps clearly, walking all the way around the structure, then advancing inside.
Ella held her breath. Maybe if she kept quiet, whoever it was would go away.
She waited, listening. No, the footsteps continued on—closer and closer. She carefully swung her gun away from the wall and aimed it at the top of the ladder that led to her home in the hay mow.
Sure enough, the ladder creaked. Her visitor started up.
A dark head appeared, the face one she knew. He saw the barrel of the gun pointed at his nose and froze.
“What do you want?” Ella demanded.
Seth Torrance scowled. “Do you greet everyone everywhere with that shotgun?”
“Only fool Yankees who walk through the woods like fat old mules.” She pointed the weapon at the nonexistent ceiling and uncocked the thing. “How on earth did y’all win the war tramping around like that? Any Reb boy would have heard you coming for miles.”
“I wasn’t trying to be quiet. I want to talk to you.”
The major pulled himself into the hay mow. In her tiny space, he seemed so much bigger than he had the other day. More dangerous; quite handsome.
Ella narrowed her eyes, annoyed with the thought and herself for having it. “You just stay over there,” she ordered. “I can hear you fine.”
He gave an impatient exhale. “You think I came over her to ravish you? I’ve got too much on my mind for nonsense.”
Nonsense? Ella wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. She was a bit insulted, and that was the most nonsensical thing she’d ever known.
“State your business, then.” Regardless of his words, she kept her gun handy.
“I’d like you to come back and take care of the children.”
She resisted the urge to smirk. Though he’d held out two days longer than she’d expected, in the end he’d behaved predictably. A man like him wasn’t going to stay here and care for five children.
As if she’d refused his request, the major hurried on. “They miss you. The little ones call your name. I should have realized how attached they’d be.” He shrugged and looked away. “I can’t bear to hear them cry.”
Knowing how loudly the girls wailed, Ella could imagine why.
Everything could go back to the way it had been before he’d arrived, which was just what she wanted. She’d still have the problem of making the farm profitable again. However, that was the same old problem—which she’d deal with another day.
“When are you leaving?” she asked.
“Pardon me?”
“You. Leaving. I’ll come back and take care of the children then.”
“Who said I was leaving?”
Some of Ella’s joy faded. “You can’t mean to stay.”
“I mean exactly that. At least for the next month. I’d like to hire you to take care of the children.”
“You want me to be a nanny?”
“And their governess, as well. I can tell by your speech you’ve been educated. The children need schooling. Can you do that?”
“I can, but I won’t.”
“Why not?” He peered through the holes in the barn, his gaze touching on the ashes that had once been her home, the gravestones, the empty barnyard, before coming back to her. “You have something pressing to do here?”
How ungentlemanly of him to refer to her reduced circumstances. But then, he wasn’t a gentleman. And he was right. She had to eat. Nevertheless, she tried one more time to convince him to go.
“Major, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of the children on my own. You can run back to wherever it is you call home. I’ll even write you a letter every month and tell you how they’re doing.”
“A letter would be lovely. Thank you.”
Her heart lifted with hope. Then he dashed it with his next words.
“But I won’t be needing one just yet. I plan to stay until I’m sure the children are settled and safe. Right now I need help. The children love you, and I thought you loved them.”
Ella winced. Trust a Yankee to hit at her weakest point.
He kept pushing. “I can pay you. Cash money. From what I hear, that’s slim in these parts.”
Another rude comment, though no less than the truth. Ella bit her lip. She could go back to the children, sleep in a bed, have a roof over her head and food in her belly, even get paid for the privilege. Or stay here and … Ella glanced around the dilapidated dwelling. She didn’t want to think about staying here.
Sooner or later the major would be called home to more important things. She’d be left with the children and his money. She could get the farm going again and keep them all together. Her reputation would be ruined, but she wasn’t using it anyway.
“All right, Major. I’ll come back for the children.” He smiled. She continued, “And the salary of fifty dollars a week.”
He stopped smiling. “But—but—that’s outrageous!”
“Isn’t it?”
Ella waited. She had him. After sending her away, he wouldn’t have come begging unless he had no choice. She could well imagine the kind of response he’d received if he’d asked for assistance in the town of Winchester.
“All right,” he conceded. “Fifty dollars it is.”
Ella turned away so he couldn’t see the triumph on her face. It appeared as if her years at Miss Duvray’s School for Girls were going to be worth something more than the memories.
The first battle was hers. Ella planned on winning the entire war.
Five
Ella was thrilled to be back. The children were thrilled to have her. But life on the Elliot farm was not the way it had been. With the major there, how could it be?
Still, her days were so full taking care of the children, and teaching them, too,
that she barely noticed Seth Torrance at all. Barely.
He spent the first week fixing the inside of the house. He patched the bullet holes, painted over them, brought in pictures from Lord knew where and hung them over the places paint and patch did not help.
The second week he worked on the outside of the house as wagons pulled in and out, bringing furniture, beds, clothes, and linens. He’d even ordered a hand-carved crib for the baby. No more apple crate for her.
Each child now had several sets of clothing for everyday wear, plus shoes, stockings, undergarments, and hats, as well as an outfit for special occasions. They were overwhelmed.
So was Ella, who was treated to the same gifts. Though she should refuse them, she found she could not. Having worn the same dress, in rotation with one other, for nigh on to four years, she couldn’t keep her pride in place any longer. Wearing a garment that hadn’t been hacked off at the ankle to keep it from dragging along the ground, since she no longer possessed a crinoline, was too wonderful to turn up her nose at.
She’d known the major was wealthy—his horse, his clothes, his boots, and his manner had all pointed in that direction—but she hadn’t realized he was sinfully rich. To be able to order whatever he wanted and have it delivered wherever he chose on a whim seemed like magic.
The third week a heat wave descended. The baby developed an ill humor; Ella developed a headache. Several times each day she bathed Gaby with lukewarm milk and water, then sprinkled the heat-induced eruptions on her skin with rye flour. Nothing seemed to help until the middle of a very long night, when a cool breeze whispered in from the east.
Ella stepped onto the porch, Gaby in her arms. The baby gurgled with pleasure as the wind caressed her face. Even though she was in her nightdress and robe, Ella strolled to the lone apple tree at the far edge of a burned-out field.
There, beyond the remaining elms that shaded the house, the breeze blew strong and sure. The night was peaceful, until someone struck a match. The sharp snick, the sudden flare of light, the acrid scent startled her so much she gasped, whirled, and pointed the derringer she always kept in the pocket of her robe at the man who stepped from behind the apple tree. The flame touched the tip of a cigarette and illuminated a face she knew very well.
Lori Austin Page 3
