In His Eyes: A Civil War Romance

by Stephenia H. McGee

  “Oh, good. You is ready for me to get to that hair.” Sibby hobbled into the room, looking like a flustered hen by flapping her walking stick around like a broken wing.

  Ella nearly giggled at the show Sibby made of it. It seemed they now had two people in this house that begrudgingly moved about on a cane. The thought snatched the gathering grin from her lips. What a terrible thing to think! Neither of them wanted to depend on a cane, and for her to find amusement in it was just cruel.

  Sibby propped the cane she’d borrowed from Westley against the dressing table and began pulling a boar’s hair brush through Ella’s tangle of curls. “We gonna have you looking right fine today, ma’am. We sure is.”

  Ella wrinkled her nose. “What’s gotten into you?”

  Sibby’s hands stilled. “What you mean?”

  Ella twisted so she could see the woman over her shoulder. “You have been acting strangely the last couple of days. You talk to me differently, too.”

  Sibby lifted her eyebrows and gave Ella a look that seemed to say she ought to know better. “Well, you ain’t no pretender no more. You is going to be Major Westley’s lady for real now.” She yanked on a tangle and Ella yelped. Perhaps it served her right for thinking such a callous thought about Westley and Sibby’s use of canes. “Now Miss Ella, you knows that being the real lady of Belmont makes things different.”

  Ella mused over the words as Sibby twisted and styled her hair, leaving a mass of coppery curls piled on the back of her head and falling past her collar. Would Ella, rather than Sibby, really be seen as the one in charge here once she wed Westley in truth? She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that. However, it might give her a bit of power to dig up a few answers.

  “All right, then,” Sibby said, plucking her from her thoughts. “You is ready.” She took the cane and moved back, eyeing her handiwork. “Yes’um, that looks right nice.”

  Ella rose and smoothed her hands down the skirt. “Sibby, I hope that you don’t mind that—”

  “Now you hush that,” Sibby groused, cutting off Ella’s words.

  Ella lifted her eyebrows.

  Sibby placed her hands on her hips, the docile tone she’d been using suddenly gone. “I know what you is about to say, and don’t you even bother doin’ it. Belmont needs a lady, and the major done chose you. Best you be rememberin’ that.”

  Ella declined to answer, knowing that if the circumstances hadn’t been what they were, then Westley would have never chosen her in a thousand lifetimes. She reminded herself that being an unloved wife with a life of means and security was a much better option for Lee than her trying to work and never really having enough to feed them.

  Ella squared her shoulders and assumed the look she’d seen Mrs. Martin use.

  Sibby grunted. “See there? You look like one of dem already.”

  Before Ella could reply, a knock at the door drew their attention. Sibby hobbled over to it and opened it, gesturing for Westley to enter. She moved past him and out into the hall, yelling orders to Basil as she started down the stairs.

  Their gazes met and Westley’s eyes darkened as he ran a hand through his hair, messing up the tidy way he had combed it away from his face.

  “Ella, you look…” He cleared his throat and blinked, and then suddenly she was once again faced with the stoic soldier. He straightened, and his eyes became unreadable. “You are quite lovely. The seamstress did well.”

  She held his gaze. “You are rather dashing today, too, sir.”

  Dressed in a dark gray broadcloth suit with a green cravat—that matched her dress, she noted—knotted around his neck, Westley was so handsome it caused a fluttering feeling in her middle. Was she really to be the wife of such a man? A man who would always gain cloying looks and fluttering lashes from every woman he met and cause unwanted jealousy to sour her heart?

  Her pulse quickened. Did he mean to marry her in name only so that he would be free to enjoy the company of women out west without truly breaking any marriage vows? Something hot stirred in her stomach. She really was a doaty lass. How very dense of her not to see that sooner. That was the very nature of the arrangement.

  Somewhere deep inside she’d actually hoped to marry for love as her mother had. Despite her family’s distain, Mama had married Ella’s father because she’d loved him. And her father had loved Mama deeply in return. Her loss had been more than Papa could bear. But she ought to bury such sentiments now, lest they corrupt her thoughts further.

  Ella lifted her chin and strode past him. “Let us not keep the guests waiting.”

  Westley mumbled something behind her, but she kept walking. He didn’t want her, he wanted someone to tend his house. That much she knew, and had agreed to.

  Why, then, did she feel this burning anger where she should not? He had no real obligation to her other than providing her with a home and funds to care for Lee. Of course Westley would take his comforts in whatever beautiful woman opened her arms to him.

  Ella shoved aside her irrational jealousy, more angered at herself for being hurt over it than anything. She caught herself before she stomped all the way down the stairs and slowed her pace to a more respectable descent.

  The man was sacrificing much to marry her. She would do well to remember his kindness and generosity and be sure to treat him with more care. Without him, she would be out on her own again.

  Ella forced her breathing to slow as she approached the ladies’ parlor where the chaplain and the Martin women waited. As soon as Ella crossed the threshold, Opal rushed over to grab her hands.

  “Oh! You look beautiful, Ella. That gown complements you perfectly.” She looked at Ella’s throat and frowned. “Though you really do need a pin for your collar.”

  “As I was about to tell her when she fled the room,” Westley said, coming to stand by her.

  Ella glanced at him, noticing he didn’t carry the cane. “I did not flee.” She inwardly groaned at the petulance in her tone.

  The corners of his mouth twitched, and she had the suspicion he tried to suppress a smile. Really, what did he find so amusing each time she got angry?

  Westley reached into his pocket. “I was going to offer you this, but you did not give me the chance.”

  He uncurled his fingers and Ella stepped closer. “It’s a brooch.”

  “It was my mother’s,” he said softly, his words almost reverent.

  Ella leaned closer. Made of gold, the brooch had one large emerald in the center with several smaller ones dangling underneath. The piece probably cost as much as one of Papa’s good stallions.

  Opal clasped her hands. “Oh! How beautiful!”

  Ella stepped back. “I cannot accept that. It’s far too priceless.”

  Westley frowned. “You are my bride, so I’m afraid I must insist.”

  “But….” His bride. If only that were true.

  He stared at her, the intensity of his gaze making her insides quiver. “Besides, once we say the vows, will not all of what is mine also be yours as well?”

  Ella bit her lip. She could not refute such a claim. “Thank you. It is a beautiful and most thoughtful gift, and I shall wear it proudly.”

  Westley stepped close and pinned it at her throat, his scent of rain and leather battering her already frayed nerves. Why did this man have to affect her so? Wouldn’t this be much easier if she felt nothing for him—the way he felt nothing for her?

  He stepped back and smiled, his white teeth stark against his sun kissed skin. “There. You look wonderful.”

  Ella tried to return the gesture, but found that her lips refused. Westley’s jaw tightened, and he turned toward the man in a Federal uniform that Ella had forgotten. He and Mrs. Martin had both ceased their conversation and were watching Ella and Westley.

  Westley swept his arm out toward Ella. “Lieutenant Hays, may I introduce my bride, Miss Eleanor Whitaker.”

  Ella slid her gaze to the stout man with a friendly face and warm eyes.

  He bowed p
olitely. “A pleasure to meet you, miss.”

  Ella inclined her head. “Thank you for agreeing to come out today, sir.”

  The man smiled, creating dimples in his cheeks. “It is my pleasure. If you are ready, then we shall proceed with the service.”

  The Martin women took seats, and Ella noticed Sibby and Basil slip just inside the door and press themselves up against the wall. Westley noticed them, too, and smiled even as Mrs. Martin scowled.

  Ella felt as though she were outside of herself as she came to stand in front of the chaplain. As a child, this had not been what she’d dreamed of. She glanced up at Westley. Though she must admit, never had she envisioned a better looking groom. Ella shoved the thought aside and focused on the minister as he opened a worn Bible and began to read a portion of one of Paul’s epistles to the Corinthians.

  As he intoned on about the virtues of love, Ella couldn’t help the bitterness that began to take root. Would they have patience and kindness without love? Would they believe all things and endure all things without the binding moorings love provided? Tears burned in her eyes, and she had to force her lids to stay open so that they would dry up and not betray her by sliding down her face.

  “Do you, Major Remington, take this woman to be your wedded wife? Do you promise to honor her, cherish her, and keep her under your protection for all the days of your life?”

  Westley pulled something from the interior pocket of his jacket. Questions danced in his eyes. She glanced down at the ring in his hand and watched as he slid it onto her finger. “I do.”

  The chaplain turned his attention to Ella. “And do you, Miss Eleanor Whitaker, take Major Remington to be your husband, to honor him, respect him, and have none other beside him?”

  Ella tightened her hand to keep the ring that was too big from slipping from her finger. Why did Westley’s vows not include a mention of faithfulness as hers did? Perhaps because he had no intentions of making such a promise.

  For Lee. “I do.”

  Something flickered in Westley’s eyes that she could not understand.

  “Then by the power vested in me by the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and by the Army of the United States of America, I now pronounce you Major and Mrs. Remington.”

  Westley grinned, and Ella bit her lip.

  “You may kiss your bride now, sir.”

  Ella’s heart lurched. He wouldn’t do that, would he? They were to wed in name only….

  But even as the thought flittered in her mind, he stepped closer. One heartbeat, and his hand cupped her cheek. Another, and his face hovered over hers. Ella tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. She ran her tongue over her lips to moisten them, and saw his gaze follow her movements.

  His pupils got larger, and then before she could move, his lips gently brushed hers. Soft, like a delicate whisper, and chaste, as it should be for a sham of a marriage. Ella felt herself relax, and her eyelids flutter closed.

  Then he pressed closer, and Ella sensed something she had not known before. Something wild and beautiful. Wanting to grasp what caused this feeling of flight, she pressed her lips back against his and he groaned, slipping his other hand to the small of her back and pulling her up against him.

  She fell into him, and for a few seconds she felt safe, warm, and…loved. Remembering herself, she snatched her head back. Westley’s eyes flew wide, and he stepped away as well. The chaplain chuckled as they stared at one another.

  “It is one of my favorite duties, joining a man and woman so in love into the holy bonds of matrimony.”

  Ella dropped her gaze, opting for studying the polish on the man’s boots rather than risk him reading anything more in her eyes.

  Someone started giggling, and Ella looked up in time to see Opal throw her mother a smug look. Mrs. Martin watched Ella and frowned, and Ella looked away again.

  “I know the ring is too big,” Westley whispered. “I will have to get it adjusted to fit.”

  Ella nodded, not paying much mind to his words. A moment later she scrawled her name on a document and in less than a quarter hour, the event that forever altered her life was finished. The chaplain offered them his hopes for their joyous life together, declining the refreshments that Basil set out in the dining room, and bemoaning the need to return to town.

  The Martin women stayed for a time, and Ella did her best to remember to smile and make polite conversation, but found herself often enough distracted. She kept glancing at the man who was now her husband. A more legal lie than her last one, but a lie all the same. He would not be her husband as God intended, and as Ella watched him laugh and share old stories with Mrs. Martin, Ella realized that she would be bound for life to a man that would daily break her heart. She would love and not be loved in return. She would ever wait for him to come home, while he would always ache for his freedoms.

  “You didn’t hear what I said, did you?”

  Ella blinked and Opal came back into focus. “Oh! I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  A sly smile tilted the lady’s lips and she shot a covert glance at Westley. “It seems your thoughts have gone astray, Mrs. Remington.”

  Ella wrinkled her nose. “Opal! I merely….” her words died when she could not think of any excuse that would not be an outright lie.

  Opal giggled. “See? I told Mama I was right.”

  Ella shook her head. “No, you are forgetting we did not marry for love. There is nothing romantic to it. Better that you get that silly notion out of your head.”

  “Hmmm. Out of mine, or out of yours?”

  Ella crossed her arms, watching the two at the other end of the table. Both of ours, I suppose. Westley had made it abundantly clear that he had no romantic notions about this marriage. “Opal, I have come to believe your mother may be correct. I suspect you have had your nose in far too many romance novels.”

  Opal flicked her gaze to Westley and then back to Ella. “I dare say that kiss says otherwise. That was no perfunctory display.”

  Ella ran her tongue over her lips, remembering the stirring he had caused, but pushed the notion away. “He is a man, Opal. Of course he’s going to enjoy kissing a lady who will let him.”

  Opal frowned and opened her mouth, but her mother spoke before she could say what was on her mind.

  “Come, Opal, dear, it is time we take our leave.”

  Opal rose from her chair and grasped Ella’s hand. “I shall come to call on you two days hence, and we shall have a long talk, yes?”

  Ella returned the squeeze. “I would like that.”

  Westley took her arm, and as a counterfeit couple they walked their guests out. Mrs. Martin gave Ella an unexpected embrace, her eyes showing concern.

  “If you need anything, dear, do not hesitate to call on us.”

  “I thank you.”

  Westley wished the ladies a good afternoon and they stood on the porch until the last of the dust from the carriage settled. Westley shifted his weight off his injured leg.

  Ella turned to him, saying the first thing that came to mind to break the tense silence. “I see you did not use the cane today. May I assume your leg is feeling better?”

  “Some.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I find that I can walk on it without assistance, though I fear there will always be a hitch in my gait.”

  Ella turned to look at him, the vulnerability on his face slicing through her. She reached up and patted his jaw. “Do not let such a small thing worry you. It is but another warrior’s scar. A mere reminder of your bravery and strength of survival.”

  Relief flooded his eyes and he smiled, looking less the soldier and more the generous yet protective man she had come to love.

  Aye, she loved him, foolish lass that she was. There was no denying that she did. She stared at him a moment, and then turned her face away before he saw things in her eyes he ought not.

  He took her hand and she let him, knowing it would hurt all the more when he let go. And together they stared out over the front yard of Belm
ont as the wind whispered promises through the trees and the birds sang a melancholy hymn.

  Westley held the doorknob until all the coolness of the metal disappeared into the heat of his palm. He should not open the door. He should not. It turned easily under his hand, unlocked. He would not open the door, and open something he might not be able to close again.

  The door swung open on silent hinges, revealing the rose room bathed in warm light. Ella looked up from where she sat at her dressing table, running a brush through her hair. She paused, letting the strands fall in cascades of fire down her back. She set the brush down and turned to look at him, neither of them speaking.

  He remained frozen in the doorway, unable to look away from the woman that today’s vows had made his wife. The little dragon who was now his to have and to hold. Fire lit in his gut, and he tried to tamp it down but found he could not. Ella put her brush on the table and stood, a floral dressing gown that he recognized had once belonged to his mother falling lightly about her legs. She looked small without all those petticoats around her.

  She watched him, yet she did not chastise him for being here. He crossed the threshold.

  She was beautiful. He’d noticed it the first day he saw her, but it had intensified with every bout of verbal battling and every time her voice took on that lilt when she baited him with a quip.

  Westley took another step into the room, further trespassing where he was entitled to be and yet….wasn’t. He knew that this time he came to this room as a husband came to a wife’s chamber, and that changed things. The other times he had come, it was to comfort.

  Ella’s eyes flashed, and he saw that she knew it too. She moved to a few paces away, staring up at him with wide emerald green eyes. What did she expect of him on this night—the night that was supposed to bind man and woman as one flesh?

  Questions danced in her eyes, and he wanted to answer them all. He lifted his hand, and after a slight hesitation she placed her small fingers in his. He urged her a bit closer and picked up a lock of hair that fell down over her shoulder.

  “It’s soft, just as I imagined it would be,” he said, his voice husky.