In His Eyes: A Civil War Romance

by Stephenia H. McGee

  Ella’s breath caught and she dropped the lace curtain, returning it to its place to keep the insects from freely flitting through the open window. “Is that bad?”

  Sibby groaned. “I’s never gonna make a lady out of you.”

  Ella ignored the comment and took Lee, smiling as he made little cooing sounds. “I don’t see why you let them come anyway.” And without her consent, no less. “You know I’m not ready.”

  “Too much talk.” Sibby straightened the starched apron around her waist. “We can’t keep nosey neighbors away for too long without them gettin’ suspicious.”

  “I’ve just had a baby. Certainly that warrants more than a week’s reprieve?”

  “Hmm.” Sibby scrunched her nose. “You’s right about that.”

  Ella’s heart quickened, and a smile of triumph nearly bowed her lips.

  “We’ll have to say he’s about three weeks, then.”

  Ella’s hope shriveled.

  “That gives you the time.” Sibby gave a matter of fact nod that Ella had come to recognize meant the woman had said her piece and expected no arguments. “See? I done thought of everythin’.”

  Ella bit back her retort. In the one week she had made this her home, there had been several rules pressed upon her. Primarily that Sibby was in charge. Like nothing more than a convenient marionette, Ella did as instructed while Sibby pulled the strings. She tried not to let resentment take hold. Had she not been under the same control at the Buckhorn Inn? At least here she got to wear nice things and sleep in a comfortable bed.

  “I fed him and then he had his nap, so he should be content,” Sibby said, pulling her from her thoughts. “Nat brought down the rocking cradle, so you can lay him down and rock it with your foot. If he gets fussy, I’ll take him.”

  Ella bobbed her head to each instruction, focusing on the little face that depended on her to pretend to be what she was not. A life as a marionette would be worth it if he could grow up secure.

  “Now, you remember the story you’s supposed to tell?”

  A knock pounded on the door, startling them both. Had anyone on the porch caught their words through the open window? “Yes,” she whispered, moving toward the entry. Sibby would open the door, but she would be there to greet the guests, just as instructed.

  Sibby offered what Ella assumed to be a reassuring smile and went to answer the door. Ella positioned herself in the doorway to the ladies’ parlor, bouncing Lee and hoping that these neighbors would neither stay long nor ask too many questions.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Martin, Miss Martin. Right good to see both you ladies back out at Belmont.”

  The two women fluttered in like a flock of plumed birds, neither of them acknowledging Sibby. The older of the two, a tall, gaunt woman wearing a dress so deep navy it bordered on black, plucked gloves from her long fingers and thrust them at Sibby, oblivious to Sibby’s glower.

  The younger of the two turned light brown eyes on Ella, the look on her face indicating she expected something. Ella smothered her fear and focused on her role. Stepping forward, she plastered a friendly smile on lips that preferred to stay closed and spoke words she’d practiced earlier this morning.

  “Hello, ladies. I am Mrs. Westley Remington, and this is my son, young Master Westley the fourth.”

  The younger woman glided across the floor in that practiced gait ladies had and peered down at Lee. “Oh, what a sweet little thing! Isn’t he just precious, Mama?”

  The other woman sniffed, and the younger one’s eyes widened. She took a small step back. “Pardon me, Mrs. Remington. I forgot myself.” Her fingers pressed into her yellow dress as though she consciously restrained them from reaching for the baby.

  The other moved closer. “Yes, do forgive my daughter’s manners. I am Mrs. Ida Martin of Riverbend. May I present my daughter, Miss Opal Martin.”

  Miss Martin inclined her head.

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, ladies.” Ella spoke the rehearsed line expected of her…merely stiff words for stiff people. “If you will join me in the parlor, tea will be served soon.”

  The women sashayed forward, and Ella looked for approval from Sibby, but the woman had slipped away. They took places in the parlor, and Ella settled on the settee with Lee crooked in her arm.

  “My, but you sure did make it out of the war unscathed.” Mrs. Martin’s clipped words startled Ella and caused her composure to falter.

  Unscathed? Something fierce shuttered in Ella’s chest. Hardly! She’d lost her home, her possessions, and her dignity. She’d been reduced to…. The thoughts tumbled to a halt. No. Ella had lost those things. Mrs. Remington had not. Hoping the heat she felt in her chest had not manifested itself on her face, Ella forced her voice to remain pleasant. “I do not think, Mrs. Martin, that any person in this nation escaped such a horrible war unscathed.”

  Miss Martin’s gaze traveled over the fine rugs, polished furniture, and paintings hanging on the fabric-lined walls and confusion puckered her smooth brow. Understanding bloomed and Ella hurried on. “But if you are referring to the furnishings, then, yes, we were quite blessed.”

  Mrs. Martin tipped up her chin. “I doubt that is the proper term for it.”

  Unsure how to respond, Ella looked to the younger woman, who appeared to be of a more pleasant disposition. Miss Martin smiled. “I’m sure my mother is merely wondering how you managed to retain all of your belongings when the rest of us were relieved of all of our things, leaving our homes nearly bare.”

  Mrs. Martin scoffed. “I do not wonder, dear. Such a thing is quite obvious.”

  Ella’s pulse quickened. She’d been prepared to act as a Yankee, but now with such distrust and scorn laid bare before her, she wondered if she were truly up to the task. “I am quite sorry for your loss, ladies.”

  “As well you should be.” Mrs. Martin tilted her chin even higher. So much so, in fact, she began to look down her nose. “The things you Blue Bellies did were deplorable.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” The words slipped from Ella’s lips, embers of truth flung free of the fire hidden within.

  Both women’s mouths gaped, and Ella momentarily felt a surge of satisfaction. It was squelched, however, by Miss Martin’s wide-eyed question.

  “Are you not a Yankee like your husband?”

  In a momentary decision, Ella reasoned the fewer lies she needed to tell, the easier it would be to keep her tales straight. Sibby would have to understand. “Not as you might think.”

  Intrigued, both women leaned forward. Miss Martin’s pink lips turned up into a smile while her mother’s drifted toward a frown.

  At that moment Sibby bustled into the room carrying a tea tray and refreshments. She placed the set on the table and stood, eyeing the three women. Had she heard Ella’s comment?

  “Thank you, Sibby.” Ella waved her hand. “That will be all. I will serve my guests.”

  Anger contorted the freedwoman’s face, and Ella knew she would hear plenty about the flippant dismissal later. But if Sibby wanted her to act like at lady in front of neighbors, then that’s what she would do.

  Mrs. Martin nodded her approval, and Ella decided her action had been prudent. She’d been the object of such arrogant disregard often enough to know that any true lady would behave such.

  Sibby stalked from the room, making her displeasure known to all, and then pulled the door closed with a resounding click.

  The other two women averted their gaze from Ella, certainly to give her a moment to compose herself after such blatant disrespect from a servant. Ella didn’t know whether to be angry or amused.

  Since the sooner she served the tea the sooner she could see the guests to the door, Ella placed the sleeping baby into the rocking cradle and began pouring tea for the other women. Once they had full cups and their choice of sugar and cream, Ella served herself.

  “Well, I must say, it is good to see that you have control of the slaves.” Mrs. Martin’s reedy voice distracted Ella f
rom her recollection of how to hold the tiny cup properly. “The elder Mrs. Remington was far too lax with them.”

  “We have no slaves here.” Ella balanced the delicate cup on her saucer. “All of the servants are free, as is the law.”

  A sly smile curved Mrs. Martin’s thin lips. “Certainly. As is the case at Riverbend.”

  Ella suspected she missed something pertinent in the words, but let them slide.

  “What were you saying about loyalties, Mrs. Remington?” Miss Martin asked as she tucked a warm brown lock into her chignon.

  Not certain if the turn of subject back to their earlier curiosity over her allegiances was more or less dangerous than the talk of slaves, Ella picked her words carefully. “When the war began, it is true that I agreed with keeping the country intact.”

  Mrs. Martin turned up her nose, indicating she had thought as much.

  Ella tamped down her frustration. “However, as the war progressed, I became increasingly displeased with the Federal tactics used against our lands.”

  Silence settled as the neighbors studied her, but Ella forced herself to remain confident under their scrutiny. Just when she began to fear they would call her out as a liar, both women gave a solemn nod.

  “Atrocities,” Miss Martin whispered.

  “Yes,” Ella agreed. Nothing more needed to be stated, as everyone knew the terror slathered upon the South, and such things need not be named in good company.

  After several moments of strained silence, Mrs. Martin finally spoke. “So you then changed your loyalties?” She took a sip from her cup, and the neighborly charade continued.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Ella hedged.

  “You certainly must have enamored Mr. Remington,” Miss Martin quipped as she plucked a small tart from the tray. “I cannot imagine he married anyone with Southern sympathies, as devout as he was to the Northern invasion.”

  Mrs. Martin bobbed her head. “Indeed.”

  Sensing her mistake, Ella gave herself a moment to think under the guise of taking a small bite from a tiny shortbread.

  As though remembering something important, Miss Martin glanced up sharply. “We are, of course, quite sorry for your loss.”

  “I thank you.”

  Her pink lips turned up, giving light to a pretty, refined face. “You must have loved him quite dearly to overcome such differences.”

  Having been provided a way out of her misstep, Ella tried her hand at a mournful smile. “You are quite right. We married in a flurry of emotions, such as can happen when one wonders if they will have many more days upon the earth.”

  Mrs. Martin narrowed her eyes, and once more Ella realized she had opened a door that would require further explanation, so she hurried on. “However, if you do not find it too terribly ill-mannered of me, such wounds are a bit too fresh to discuss at the moment.”

  Miss Martin’s eyes swam with compassion, and Ella couldn’t help but like her. “You are right, of course.” She offered an apologetic smile. “We shouldn’t allow our curiosity to fringe upon your mourning.”

  “Though without you donning widow’s blacks, we can understandably be forgiven.” Mrs. Martin glanced down Ella’s dress with disapproval.

  Having been prepared for this particular question, Ella waved her hand airily. “Of course. I do hope you will forgive me, but I have just now allowed my maid to begin fashioning a widow’s dress. What with the baby and all, I wanted to wait for proper measurements.”

  Mrs. Martin opened her mouth to reply, but Ella silenced her with soft spoken words. “And, I too long held out hope he would return.” She put a hitch in her voice. “Although it has now become painfully clear such hopes are not to be realized.”

  The older woman, having enough manners to withdraw her criticism, gave a small sigh. “Oh, of course, my dear Mrs. Remington. We are quite sorry for your pain. It is a bitter taste all of us have been forced to partake of late.”

  Lee squirmed in the cradle, his soft coos drawing their attention. Grateful for a distraction as much as the comfort of him, Ella scooped him up and positioned him in the crook of her arm.

  Miss Martin leaned a bit closer, her desire to see the child evident. Ella smiled. “Would you care to hold him, Miss Martin?”

  “Please, you must call me Opal.” She reached for Lee. “We are neighbors, after all, and I am sure we will be the best of friends.”

  Something fluttered inside Ella at the thought of someone wishing to be her friend, but she pushed it aside. The woman, who looked to be merely a few years shy of her own age, surely only spoke the words out of good manners. Experience had taught Ella that fine ladies often said things in the name of propriety they didn’t truly mean. For some reason, none of them thought to name such things lying.

  “Of course, Opal.” Ella handed over her child. “And please do call me Eleanor, as I do so look forward to our getting to know one another better.”

  Eleanor, not Ella. She still regretted letting Sibby in on her shortened name. Though she’d never been ashamed of it before, in this peculiar circumstance it somehow made her feel less like she belonged than did Eleanor.

  “A fine child, Mrs. Remington.” Opal stroked his tiny hand. “How old is he?”

  “He is just over three weeks old,” Ella said, remembering Sibby’s instructions.

  “That old already?” Mrs. Martin scoffed. “Why, he hardly looks it.”

  Ella lifted her shoulders, not sure what explanation she could give. The woman couldn’t possibly be able to tell the child’s age with such precision, could she? Ella didn’t know, so she thought it best to keep quiet.

  “And, my, I would have thought we would have seen you arrive some time ago.” Mrs. Martin tapped her chin as though she’d just thought of it, but Ella suspected she’d been waiting for the opportunity to voice such things. “Surely you did not travel during the final months of your expectancy…?”

  Ella’s heart began to hammer. “Well, I….”

  Just then the door swung open, pulling everyone’s attention to Sibby whom Ella assumed had been listening from the entry. “Excuse me, ladies,” Sibby said. “But I has got to speak to the missus.”

  Mrs. Martin sniffed. “As you can see, she is indisposed.”

  Ella pressed her lips into a line. Did she agree with her guest or with Sibby? Thankfully, Lee chose that moment to let out a high-pitched wail.

  “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 ladylike, 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 p
unctuated 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.