Counterfeit Courtship by Christina Miller

tonight, he might not remember doing so tomorrow.”
    â€œHe can’t legally sell anything now because of his mental condition,” Joseph said. “His power of attorney will need to do that for him.”
    Of course. Graham should have thought of that. Ellie would know who the power of attorney was.
    But if he knew this woman the way he used to, she wouldn’t let go of Magnolia Grove and still keep her heart intact. That place was her true home, her refuge. Finding a buyer wouldn’t be easy, and letting go of the ground would be harder yet.
    But what choice did she have? Graham certainly couldn’t help her, as much as he wanted to. For their friendship’s sake, of course, nothing else. At least that was what he kept telling himself. “Who is his power of attorney?”
    â€œThat’s the problem, Graham,” Joseph said. “It’s your father.”

Chapter Eight
    W hat an agenda for a man to wake up to on a Saturday morning. First, he had to send another telegram to General Lee to find out if he had any more news concerning Father’s whereabouts. Then he had to go to the post office to see if President Andrew Johnson had answered his letter, requesting pardon for the crime of treason against the United States of America.
    Granted, he’d sent his letter to Johnson only a few days ago, but rumor had it that the Yankee president was trying to send replies as quickly as possible. Graham had never dreamed he’d write to a president, and he certainly never considered he’d be accused of treason. How his world had changed since he last lived in this house.
    It seemed it had changed in every way but one: Ellie. She was still here, still the belle of Natchez, still the sweet, impetuous girl he’d fallen for on a summer night—in the garden, surrounded by white Natchez crape myrtle. In his mind he could smell them now, their fragrance mixed with her perfume to create the headiest of scents—
    But she still didn’t want him.
    As soon as Father came home and this mess with Fitzwald was straightened out, Graham was leaving.
    But for now, he needed to find a way to earn a living in this new country that no longer felt like home. And he had to complete this list today, since tomorrow was the Lord’s day. He threw back the sheet.
    He rose then bathed and shaved in the tepid water in his white china bowl decorated with brown horses, the bowl he’d used as long as he could remember. When dressed, he knelt beside his bed. Here his knees had met the carpet from the time he was old enough to whisper “Now I lay me down to sleep” until the morning he left for West Point.
    But his prayer today wasn’t that of a boy with childlike faith. Today he prayed as a man with a stone for a heart. The words came fast, but he sensed no depth to them. He’d always prayed fervently before battle and given profuse thanks afterward. So why could he now not—
    The ringing of a bell interrupted Graham’s thoughts.
    What was going on? It sounded as if it was coming from inside the house, but Noreen had never used bells, even back when they’d had servants. From an old but less prosperous family without domestic help, she always said she felt silly, ringing a bell and expecting someone to come running. He scrambled to his feet and headed downstairs, finding Noreen in the hall, carrying the laughing baby, and Ellie holding two ridiculously large brass bells. Ellie grinned, no doubt at the shocked expression that must have been on his face.
    It was a relief that Betsy had laughed at that bell, considering how she’d cried about everything the night of Aunt Ophelia’s party. Well, everything except the dog. He reached for her little fist. “Good morning, Betsy.”
    She smiled at him and made a cooing sound. Was she trying to speak to him or merely making a noise? Either way, she looked as if she might like him a little. Funny what that did