Ella tucked a strand of her fire and gold hair back into the mass of curls pinned to her head. “Well, that can be done in the parlor. You’re letting the bugs in.”
Sibby rolled her eyes and then reached for the baby on Ella’s hip. “Best you give little man to me, then, since you got talkin’ to do. Miss Opal here has company, and from the look she done had on her face, it’s interestin’ company.” She hummed as she took the boy up the stairs.
Opal waved to him, and he smiled with chubby cheeks back over Sibby’s shoulder.
“Company?” Ella asked, moving toward the parlor.
It never ceased to amaze her how the Remington home remained so intact. In here, one could almost forget the war. But then, the Remingtons had encountered their own problems. Who was she to say the reasoning behind the Lord’s doings?
“You missed quite a lot of excitement after you left,” Opal said, sitting on the settee in the ladies’ parlor.
“Aye?” Ella arranged her skirts and tilted her head. “Well, isn’t that just the way it goes?” She laughed, the Scottish lilt to her voice enchanting.
Opal sighed, slouching back against the settee, glad Mama wasn’t here to scold her. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“How about with what happened after I got in my carriage?”
Opal laughed, Ella’s mischievous tone teasing her from her worry. “First it was the carpetbagger, then it was the dying soldier.”
Ella leaned forward, her eyes wide. “Do tell!”
“No sooner had the dust settled from your carriage than this dandy in a fine suit appeared on the porch. He claimed that his horse had thrown a shoe, and he had come to ask for help.”
“I didn’t see a horse on the road.” Ella scrunched her nose. “But then, I wasn’t really looking for one, either.”
Opal let her eyes drift over the papered walls and the intricately carved molding lining the high ceiling. “He just wanted to look at the house. I caught him sniffing around like a hound.” She waved a hand. “In fact, it was the dog that let me know the man prowled around the side of the house.”
Ella put a hand to her throat. “What nerve!”
“It gets worse. Mama came outside and started talking to him. He wants to buy the house.”
She expected a gasp, or a scowl, or…something, but instead Ella’s forehead only crinkled in thought. “He wishes to buy Riverbend? At what price?”
“I don’t know. What does it matter?”
Ella rubbed a stray curl between her fingers. “Oh, just wondering what a dandy might offer. I’ve heard tell that they are trying to take advantage of desperate families and purchase property for well below what it’s worth.” She pursed her lips. “Or, rather, what it used to be worth.”
“Whatever he offered, it appealed to Mama. She’s considering it.”
Now the gasp of surprise came. “But where would you go?”
Opal groaned, knowing she sounded too much like a petulant child rather than a lady, but still not caring. Ella was the one person with whom she could relax. “Massachusetts! Can you believe it? She says she has a distant cousin there who offered for us to come and live with her.”
Ella was quiet for several moments. “We will have to pray over it and see. But, I do not think Westley would protest if you wished to live here, instead.”
The notion was tempting, but only for a moment. “I could not leave Mama on her own, nor could I impose on our friendship.” She reached across to grasp Ella’s hand. “But your generous offer means more to me than you can imagine.”
Moisture gathered in Ella’s eyes but she blinked it away. “We shall discuss it again after we’ve had time to think and pray on it. Now, what of this soldier?”
Opal shifted in her seat. “Mr. Tristan Stuart. He must have fallen into the river. Somehow he ended up on my porch with a terrible gash on his head.”
“Oh, my!” Ella leaned forward. “Did he survive?”
“He did. I sutured the wound and now he is sleeping in our parlor. Says he’s from Rolling Fork.”
“Why, Opal.” Ella cast her a sidelong glance, her tone turning buttery. “I didn’t take you for a nurse.”
She returned the bemused smile. “I’m not even good at sewing fabric.” She grimaced. “But it had to be done.”
A sly look crossed her friend’s pale features. “Tell me about this man.”
“He has chestnut hair with bits of auburn, and a beard to match.”
“Handsome?”
Opal lifted her brows. “I suppose.”
“You suppose?”
She huffed. “Oh, all right. Yes, he is a nice looking fellow. But he seems….” She let the words trail off, not knowing how to describe the turmoil behind those eyes.
“What?”
“I don’t know how to describe it. When he first came, he seemed to think he was someplace else. He asked me if he could die on the porch.” A little shiver ran across her arms. “His eyes were so haunted, so filled with agony that I thought my heart would burst just from the sight of them.”
“War,” Ella said softly. “It does things to a man.”
“And it must have cost him a great deal. He wears five black bands upon his arm.”
“Aye, that’s a lot of loved ones to lose. No doubt it has taken its toll.”
“So what am I to do, Ella?”
She studied Opal for a moment, a light dancing in her eyes. “About the soldier or the dandy?”
Opal gained her feet, her nerves fluttering. “Both!”
Ella watched her make tracks around the ladies’ parlor, her feet silent on the thick rug. Opal made the fourth round before Ella spoke again. “I don’t suppose there is anything you can do about the dandy. Your mother will have to decide what she wants to do with the house. After that, then you will have to measure your options.”
Coming to a stop near one of the windows facing the road, Opal moved the curtain aside to look out over the yard. “And the soldier?” she asked, avoiding eye contact.
“Well, now, that is another matter entirely. You have already taken him in, so his wellbeing is your responsibility.”
Opal turned, her skirt flaring. “What do you mean?”
“Are you going to turn him out?”
“Well, no, but….”
“Then you have taken responsibility for him. Perhaps the Lord brought him to your porch instead of any other for a reason. Maybe it is so you can make sure he is properly healed before he returns home.” She lifted her shoulders. “Or perhaps there is another reason.”
Opal put a hand on her hip. “Such as?”
Ella’s lips stretched wide. “You mean a romantic such as yourself hasn’t already seen the possibilities?”
Heat raced up her cheeks. “Nonsense.”
“Oh, but don’t you think it would make a wonderful story?”
Her own words, spoken over Ella and Mr. Remington’s situation seemed ill-fitting when applied to her own. “I don’t even know the man.”
Ella laughed. “Like I knew Westley?”
“Ah, well, that was different.”
Ella rose and came to wrap her arms around Opal. “I was only teasing you. Come, do not get yourself into a dither.”
“I’m not,” Opal grumbled, even as she knew it was a lie. Why should she be sensitive to such a ribbing? Perhaps because the loneliness had begun to steal her hopes. Had it not been for war, would she have been married by now? Had a boy of her own settled on her hip?
As though sensing her melancholy thoughts, Ella pulled her closer. “We will pray on it, yes?”
“Yes,” Opal agreed, returning the squeeze before stepping away. “We shall pray he is healed, both in body and spirit, and that he will be able to continue on his way hearty.”
Ella’s lips curled. “Yes, we shall pray for that as well.”
They continued to talk about other matters, about how things were going with Westley and Ella, and how Lee had been fairing since recovering f
rom his sickness. Each time the conversation drifted toward Mr. Stuart, Opal made sure to steer it away again. She had come seeking her friend’s thoughts on the matter, but had been unnerved to realize her own feelings were in a tangled mess. Why should she be in a tizzy about a stranger? No, more likely it was that carpetbagger who had sent her emotions into a swirl.
The sound of scurrying feet brought young Basil to the door with a basket draped over her arm. Her gaze darted to Opal, and the girl’s features split into a wide smile. “Morning, Miss Martin.” She turned to Ella. “Got them things Miss Sibby said I should get for you.”
“What things?”
Basil looked at Opal again, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Well, when I done told her ’bout that soldier, she said he’d be needin’ some medicine and what not….”
Ella tilted her head, and the longer she studied the child, the more the girl shifted. “And tell me, Basil, how is it that Sibby knows about the soldier in the first place?”
The girl’s forehead puckered. “Well, now, I was dustin’ in the hall like I was supposed to be doin’. Ain’t my fault y’all talks so loud.”
Ella sighed. “How many times have I told you not to listen in on people’s conversations? It isn’t ladylike.”
“Yes ’um, I know. Sorry.”
“Oh, never you mind that, Basil,” Opal said. “It is not as though I was sharing any secrets.” Though she would remember to do so in her own home if she had any to confide in the future.
Basil grinned and hefted up the basket. “Miss Sibby say these here things would help plenty.”
“Thank you,” Ella said, giving her red curls a shake. “You may leave them on the table by the door.”
Basil bobbed her head and then twirled out the door.
“She means well,” Ella said, watching the girl skip away.
“Of course.” Opal twisted her hands in her lap. “But I am afraid Mama won’t….”
“Your mother still worries you have taken too many things from us?”
“Yes.”
Ella leaned forward and took Opal’s hand. “And if we should see our neighbor in need, and have the means to help and yet do not, where is the love of God in us?”
Opal giggled. “I used that very verse on Mama yesterday in regard to Mr. Stuart.”
“Well then,” Ella said, “surely she can see that such love flows in multiple directions.”
“Indeed. But I fear she believes we have become a burden, and our ability to return the favor grows more unreachable each day.”
Ella scoffed. “I do not expect you to return anything. You and your mother bore witness at my wedding. Provided a horse for Westley to seek a doctor.” She wagged her head. “What are a few provisions compared to that?”
Opal pressed her lips together.
“Has your mother considered Westley’s offer?”
“She has, but she has hesitated to turn the fields once again. But now I think I understand why.”
“Because she wishes to move to Massachusetts?”
Opal nodded, a lump forming in her throat. “And how can I blame her? She dreads trying to run the plantation without my father, and life with her cousin offers ease, companionship, and an escape from the devastation. How can I be so selfish? How can I in good conscience keep her from such an opportunity?” She hung her head. “But then, how can I go? This is my home, even if it is crumbling. It is terrible of me, but I fear living somewhere unfamiliar.”
Ella clasped her hand once more. “Aye, it is a hard thing. What if she was to go and you were to stay?”
“To go she needs to sell the house, and I cannot impose upon you in that way.” She held up her hand to stay Ella’s protest. “I do not wish to be homeless, Ella, having to depend on the kind hearts of friends. And even if Mama were to somehow go and leave Riverbend to me, I cannot hope to live there on my own.”
Ella rose and drew Opal into an embrace. “What does your heart wish for?”
“That my father was still alive.”
Pushing her back to arm’s length, Ella offered a melancholy smile. “But that is not within your realm of control. Come now, what is it that you long for?”
Opal tried not to choke on the bitter words. “Wish? What good is a wish?” She stepped away from her friend’s touch. “I wish the war had not come. I wish my father had not died. I wish my mother wasn’t brokenhearted. I wish Riverbend hadn’t been plundered. I…” She clenched her hands. “I wish I had been able to find a fairytale.”
Rather than taking offense, as would have been her right at the venom Opal could not believe she’d allowed to escape the deepest recesses of her heart, Ella merely smiled. “Ah, so now you will admit it.”
Opal grimaced. “What?”
“I have long known you to dream of a romance like the kind in those novels your mother hates for you to read.”
Heat stirred in her stomach, though there was no warrant for such anger. “She’s right. It is utter nonsense.”
“Is it? Why, I think you have the makings of a romance worthy of a tale, right there on your doorstep.”
“Mr. Stuart is not interested in me, and I am not interested in him.”
“That so?”
Opal groaned. “Oh, it is so pathetic, Ella! I am lonely, and I wish that I could have what you have. So here I am projecting feelings onto a man I don’t even know just because he is handsome and at my house!” She lowered her head again, the weight of her own pitiable state seeming heavy across her shoulders. “I have been blessed. We are alive, the house stands, we have food to eat, and friends who shower us in love. I should not feel this way, and I should not think to fling myself at any man within sight.”
Ella snorted a laugh. “I have never seen you do anything of the sort, and there are men in town.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. “There are not many men, and most of them are either old or married.”
“More have been arriving as they muster out. Just last week two men fawned over you at the general store. You didn’t even notice.”
“Nonsense.”
“It’s not. I saw it myself. You didn’t catch their gaze even though both were clearly staring.” Ella tapped her finger on her chin. “There is more going on here.”
Opal snagged her bonnet. “I really must be going.”
Ella followed her to the foyer. “Now, don’t be sore with me, Opal. I am merely trying to help you sort through things.”
“What is there to sort?” Opal peeked into the basket Basil had left. “I don’t know the man. Yes, he has these eyes that seem to hold an ocean’s depth of…something. But what does that matter?”
Ella grabbed the basket and looped it over Opal’s arm. “Did you look into his eyes and feel something in your heart shift in a way that it never has before?”
How could she know that? “I…um….” Opal looked away.
Ella gave her a quick hug and opened the door. “Get on back and take care of him. And while you are walking, be sure to pray over that shifting.”
Opal nodded numbly and then made her way out of the house.
Chapter Six
Three weeks later
Tristan sat on the front porch of a house that looked like home but wasn’t, scratching the ears of a dog that didn’t belong to him, and contemplating how he might help with a problem that shouldn’t be affecting him. Yet after weeks under the careful and persistent care of Miss Opal Martin, Tristan found himself not only obligated to help her, but truly wanting to. Something about the way she had weathered his moods yet still looked at him with compassion, and not pity, had begun to pluck out some of his barbs.
He let his fingers untangle a mat of hair on Shadow’s ear, and the dog groaned, leaning into him. The day he’d stepped into the river, he’d thought he would never care about anything again. Now he worried about what would happen to a young woman with too big of a heart for her own good. And though it shouldn’t be any of his concern, Mis
s Martin’s anxiety over selling her home had Tristan itching to somehow soothe her troubles. Yes, life had a funny way of taking what a man thought he knew and turning it upside down.
The lady’s voice drifted from the house, singing a melody that reminded him of long-forgotten mornings in church with his parents, brothers, and Millie. The thought of her wrenched a dark place in him and he clenched his teeth against the pain. Her memory often crept up on him, stabbing him whenever he lowered his guard.
“Mr. Stuart? Do you need anything?”
Tristan turned to look at her, a beautiful vision even in a faded gown with a dusting rag wrapped around her locks. “You’re dressed like a servant.”
He hadn’t meant the words to be cruel, but the flash of surprise in her eyes and the blush of shame on her cheeks told him his meaning had not come across. Tristan cleared his throat.
“Forgive me.” He came to his feet. “I meant to say I find it impressive that a lady can adapt to the aftermath of war with such grace and dignity, and even dressed as one beneath her true station, she manages to remain beautiful.”
The color in Miss Martin’s cheeks deepened, but she did not take her gaze from him. After a moment, her eyebrows raised. “I see your skills at flattery have improved with your health.”
Her voice held reprimand, yet teased at the same time, and he stared at her, unsure how he should respond. When three heartbeats passed with him incapable of formulating a reply, she spun around and slipped back into the house.
Tristan looked down at Shadow. “Well, I made a mess of that, didn’t I?”
The dog cocked his head, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.
Now he’d started talking to a dog. He settled back down and waited again, not knowing what else he should do with himself. Mrs. Martin seemed to have no problem finding chores for him to do as soon as he’d declared himself fit. He’d been happy to put himself to the labor, earning his simple meals rather than draining the women. They had long been in need of someone to cut wood, haul water, and fix a myriad of broken things around the house, and he’d found a sense of satisfaction in being able to care for them as they had cared for him.
The Heart of Home Page 5
