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What could this mean? He glanced down at his dirt-caked boots and the clumps of dried mud he’d left on the Persian silk and wool carpet. Noreen could have moved the gun, but she didn’t leave drawers and ammo boxes open.
A wave of soprano giggles pierced the air around him, interrupting his thoughts. The girls.
He dashed into the hallway and toward his own room. He had to find out what had happened to Noreen, a mother to him since shortly after Mama and Graham’s baby sister died in childbirth. But first he had to get rid of those girls. The thought of doing that made his stomach sick.
He could think of only one way to get them out.
* * *
Ellie Anderson pulled her head back inside the window of Uncle Amos’s second-story bedroom, unsure whether to laugh at the scene below or feel sorry for Graham Talbot. For a moment, she fought the urge to send him their old childhood signal: a shrill whistle from between her teeth. But from the looks of things, he had enough noise in his ears as it was.
Would he even remember that signal, or had his war years erased the memory? It was such a childish thing, like the handkerchiefs they used to attach to wires and dangle out the windows of their rooms. A blue handkerchief was an invitation to an adventure, red for a picnic, and a white one was a distress signal. They had worked fine until Uncle Amos caught Ellie trying to fly hers from the weather vane.
She watched until Graham and the debutantes entered his home. Then she turned from the window in time to see Uncle Amos tip a spoonful of grits onto his lap.
She hastened to the bed, where he sat propped up by three pillows. “I’m not getting the hang of this,” he said, the slur in his speech still unfamiliar, even two months after his stroke of apoplexy.
Reaching for a napkin, Ellie tried to smile some encouragement into his drooped face. “You will. Keep practicing.” She wiped his chin and nightshirt front, and then she loaded more grits onto the spoon she had built up with a length of inch-thick dowel.
Uncle Amos reached for it, grunting as he spilled the grits again, and tried to dredge the spoon through the bowl.
“Grab it like you would an ax handle, not with your Natchez table manners.”
A twinkle appeared in his eye—the first one she’d seen since he took to his bed. “When did you last see me holding an ax?”
Ellie breathed a prayer of thanksgiving for this smidgen of humor. Surely it was a sign that he would recover. It had to be. Because if he didn’t get better—
Light footsteps tapped down the hall, interrupting her thoughts. Within seconds, Ellie’s maid poked her head in the doorway, a fringe of tight, gray-streaked black curls escaping her red kerchief. “That spoon you made working?”
“Better, Lilah May,” Uncle Amos said in a loud voice of optimism—as always when anyone other than Ellie was around.
“Let me help him. Colonel Graham just got home. You best get over there and rescue him from all them women.” Lilah May sat next to Uncle Amos on the bed and lifted a cup of no-longer-steaming coffee from the tray. “Besides, this man needs some coffee.”
“Graham Talbot?” When she raised the cup to his lips, Uncle Amos held up one hand, stopping her. “What women?”
“Maiden women, that’s who, from all over town. They got designs on him, for sure. One of them is going to wiggle her way right into that big mansion of his.”
Her uncle’s good eye widened, making the droopy one seem even worse by comparison. “Get over there, Ellie.”
She glanced out the window, the hot midmorning sun streaming in and heating up the room, bringing only a breath of a breeze with it. At least today her uncle remembered who Graham was. “I’m driving out to Magnolia Grove to check the west cotton field this morning before it gets too hot. I want to see how well the plants are squaring.”
“All you ever do is work. You’re the best plantation manager a planter could ask for, but you’re also a young lady. Go see Graham.”
From the look on Uncle’s face, this was an argument she was going to lose. “Make sure he gets more than coffee, Lilah May. If he had his way, that’s all he’d take.”
With Uncle Amos’s snort ringing in her ears, Ellie headed downstairs. Her maid and uncle could imagine her running to Graham’s side if they liked. But she had no intention of joining the fuss and flurry over the war hero’s return. They’d been friends too long, and she knew him too well to think he would enjoy the festivities this town had planned for him. A Confederate colonel who’d served under General Lee was worthy of celebration, to be sure. But Graham would rather entertain General Grant in the parlor than attend all the parties, balls and dinners that were in his future—starting tonight.
The poor man. Surely all he wanted to do was rest after traveling all the way from Virginia.
Someone ought to warn him. He might need her help.
She hastened to the library and rummaged in her desk for stationery, then she dipped her pen in the ink.
Graham, old friend,
Maybe your welcoming committee has already told you this, but your aunt Ophelia has been at the ready for weeks, prepared to give you a coming-home party the night you arrive. If you need a quiet evening instead, I’ll be at our old hideout and will bring you home for some of Lilah May’s good cooking.
Your friend, Ellie.
As she put away her pen, she noticed a letter addressed to her, propped against her walnut whatnot box where Lilah May always left the mail. Ellie pulled a pin from her hair and slit the envelope, then drew out the single thick sheet. Only three lines of large, bold handwriting scrawled across the page.
After my father’s demise, I must put his accounts in order. May I call at your home Friday next at 8:00 p.m. to discuss the business he left behind?
As always, Leonard Fitzwald.
As always? Surely that didn’t mean Leonard intended to loiter here at their home as he had before the war. Honestly, if the neighborhood hadn’t known better, they’d have thought Ellie and Leonard were courting.
The thought sent a cold chill down her back. Although not necessarily bad-looking, Leonard had an almost frail demeanor and, worse, some undefined, underlying peculiarity that made her uneasy. She’d have to find a polite way to discourage him from visiting, especially now that the cotton fields were squaring. Between supervising her new workers, keeping track of cotton prices and watching for the right time to sell the portion of last year’s cotton harvest that she still had stashed away, she had no time for Leonard. However, since his father had been their cotton broker, Leonard no doubt had legitimate business to discuss.
But for now, Graham needed her help, so she tossed Leonard’s letter onto her desk and headed for the back door. Maybe her old friend would take her up on her offer of escape from the party, and maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, she’d have an excuse to miss it too. Some girls never grew up, like that silly Susanna Martin, who’d all but thrown herself at Graham in the yard. And Miss Ophelia, who seemed as excited about Graham’s return as the debutantes were. As much as Ellie loved Miss Ophelia, she’d welcome a chance to forego the festivities.
As Ellie neared the back door, Sugar got up from the rug and let out a sharp bark. Ellie grabbed the braided leather leash from the nail she’d hung the dog’s leashes on for the past ten years. Fastening it to Sugar’s matching soft leather collar, she gave silent thanks to God for allowing them to keep their ancestral home, as stately as Graham’s and even larger. Others around them had suffered much more than she and her uncle had, but now the war was over, and they could all make a new start.
Everything would be fine—if Uncle Amos recovered. And if Magnolia Grove returned a profit this year.
The thought took her breath. As the only father she’d known since the age of twelve, her uncle had to get well. But he had shown little improvement since the early days of his affliction, and she had to face that fact.
Magnolia Grove stood an even smaller chance of improving—and now it was up to Ellie to make that happen. At least she still had ground to work. Graham, on the other hand, had little to come home to.
If things had been different, he might have come home to her.
She brushed aside the thought as always. Their world had changed—they’d changed—since that summer night when he’d come calling, a bouquet of white crape myrtle in his hand and his heart in his eyes.
If only she’d been free to accept his offer...
The black-and-white-spotted English setter barked again and tugged at the leash. Ellie made her sit, then she scratched behind the dog’s floppy, curly ears and opened the door. With Sugar nearly dragging her toward Graham’s home, she let her gaze drift over the white house with its two-story columns and Doric capitals.
A white handkerchief hung from his bedroom window, fluttering in the gentle breeze.
Their distress signal?
She picked up her pace, Sugar trotting ahead of her. He’d been home ten minutes. What calamity could have happened in that time? And why ask for help from her, of all people?
She caught sight of him in the stable and hastened toward him. “Graham, welcome home.”
He turned toward her from the horse he was brushing. If she thought earlier that he’d changed, she now saw how much. Once the best-looking boy in Natchez, today he could turn every woman’s head in Mississippi. Of a stronger build than she remembered, and still in his uniform, he looked at once both powerful and intimidating—and yet she felt strangely safe with him. His dark hair brushed his collar, needing a trim, and he wore several days’ growth of beard, but the lack of scissors and razor couldn’t detract from his stunning looks.
His eyes had changed the most. She’d dreaded this day in the past weeks, not wanting to see cold, war-hardened eyes. But instead, she found gray-green eyes that had surely seen the worst of horrors—horrors he had commanded—and yet had become even softer than before.
They no longer held his heart in them—at least not for her. At the thought, she drew a long, slow breath of thanksgiving that held a pinch of bitter disappointment as well.
“Ellie.” He dropped his currycomb onto a low table. Then he bowed from the waist, a little too formally, considering their long friendship. “Perhaps you’d rather I call you Miss Ellie, or Miss Anderson.”
“That would be silly.” Equally silly was her sudden pleasure in hearing his deep, velvety voice. “Why did you hang the distress flag?”
He drew a ragged breath and glanced toward the house, his eyes intense, as if he was heading into battle. “I’m in trouble.”
“You?” Ellie couldn’t help laughing. “The hero of Natchez needs my help?”
“It’s female trouble.”
Female? “Well, you do work quickly. Don’t expect me to get you out of a hasty engagement or any such nonsense.”
“It’s nothing like that.” The intensity in his eyes lessened a bit, so maybe her teasing had lightened his mood. “A whole flock of women was here when I got home. They came inside with me, but Noreen’s gone.”
“Is that all? All you have to do is put on some water for tea. Noreen keeps a few cookies in the pantry, so put them on one of her Spode dishes—”
“I don’t want to serve refreshments. I want them out of the house so I can find Noreen.”
The man must have been too war-weary to think straight. “She’ll be back. You can surely tolerate an hour with a few pretty women.”
“You don’t understand. Something’s wrong. I know she left in a hurry, because her half-eaten breakfast is still sitting in the library. And Father’s revolver is missing.”
Now, that was different. “In that case, tell them you need to go. If Miss Noreen left dirty dishes, something has happened.”
“They’re not going to listen.”
She thought for a moment, watching Sugar inch closer to the horse.
“Don’t worry. I have a plan.”
Chapter Two (#ulink_30b75443-6b20-5a81-9f36-d33b431d10f2)
I have a plan. How many times in his life had Graham regretted having heard those words? He had a feeling he was going to regret it again. “All I want you to do is go in there and ask those women to leave while I look for Noreen.”
“If that’s all it takes, you do it,” Ellie said in her easy drawl.
The sick feeling in Graham’s stomach intensified to a burn. How was he supposed to tell her that, since he left her house that night eight years ago, he had spent almost no time with women and had no idea how to handle them? What was he supposed to say—that he’d led men into battle but couldn’t lead a gaggle of women out of his home? After all his time at war, he simply didn’t trust himself with the social graces. But the grin on Ellie’s face told him she wasn’t interested in hearing about it anyway.
Well, she was going to hear about it, whether she liked it or not. “Look, I’ve been three days without a bath and in the saddle the past day and a half, and I smell worse than a wet dog. I’ve been stripped of everything I own, plus my citizenship, and now to be disgraced in front of all those ladies— I still have my pride. I can’t do it.”
“My plan is brilliant. Trust me.”
He blew out his breath, sounding a little like Dixie when she saw something she didn’t like. “Don’t even tell me about it. You’re just like the Confederacy—full of great ideas that never quite work out.”
“I’m honored to be compared to the glorious Confederate States of America.”
To his dismay, she smiled her sweet smile. He’d wanted to make her mad, prod her into helping him. Why couldn’t she just do as he asked?
Then he realized she was baiting him, as she had for years when they were young.
“Fine. Carry out your plan. But I don’t want any part of it.” He stuck his foot in the stirrup, swung himself onto Dixie’s back and guided her out of the stable.
Just as he was about to tap the horse’s flank and take off, Ellie slipped out of the stable and closed the door, leaving the dog inside. She climbed the marble carriage steps and then took him by the arm and started to hoist herself right up there in front of him.
“What are you doing?” Against his will, Graham helped her mount. He’d left this woman here eight years ago, and she’d gone crazy while he was away. Now he not only had to get five girls out of his house, but he had to get another one off his horse.
“Ride up to the front of the house and pass as close to the south parlor windows as you can. You put the girls in the parlor, right?”
“Where else would I put them? The cellar?”
She leaned back against him. “Get the horse moving, and act as if you like it.”
“Ellie, we’re not children anymore. This isn’t one of your schemes. Noreen could be in trouble.”
“The sooner you stop talking and ride up there, the sooner you’ll be gone to look for her.”
How did she always make everything sound so logical? But in his situation, what else could he do? He nudged Dixie with his heel and she took off.
“Slower. We’re supposed to be enjoying this.”
He gritted his teeth so hard, they might break, and he slowed the horse. When they were ten yards from the window, Ellie began to giggle.
She really had gone crazy.
Turning back to look at him, she stopped the laugh cold and spoke through her teeth as she smiled. “You’re scowling like an old schoolmarm. Smile and act as if you like me.”
After all those years of war and responsibility, he wasn’t sure he remembered how. He tried a rather tentative grin but it felt like a grimace.
“Better but not good. Think of something pleasant.”
“Be glad you get this much. I’m out of practice.”
As they passed the windows, Ellie primped a little and giggled again. “They’re looking right at us. Smile.”
This was ridiculous. He urged Dixie across the side yard and to the front hitching post, although he didn’t exactly want to advertise the fact he was home. He didn’t need any more women showing up. “Now what?”
“Help me down.” She gave Dixie a good pat on the head and then held on to Graham as she slipped to the ground, her white hoopskirts twirling.
He dismounted and secured the horse. Then they ambled up the walk, Ellie clasping his arm as Susanna had done earlier. “I’m surprised you can stand being this close to me,” he said.
She looked up at him, her eyes blue as the sky and almost as wide. “You’re not that bad.”
“I was referring to my hygiene—or lack of it.”
“I admit you don’t smell like a crape—” She cut herself off and lowered her head, a flush across her cheeks.
But he knew what she was going to say. Crape myrtle. He’d wanted to cut down that tree eight years ago, and he would have, if Father hadn’t stopped him.
