Before the Scarlet Dawn: Daughters of the Potomac, Book 1

by RITA GERLACH

  “But what if there is something you should be warned of? Isn’t that important?”

  “If you have something important to say, then say it quickly.”

  Eliza struggled to find the words to disarm her husband and stop any further intrusions from Miss Stapleton. Chagrined at Hayward’s rude demeanor, she attempted to draw him away. But Miss Stapleton kept step with them.

  “It concerns Mr. Halston,” she said. “You may not know this, but he chases women like a fox chases rabbits, and he cares not whether they are married. Mrs. Morgan, you must be careful. Halston was much too liberal with his compliments toward you.”

  Hayward fumed inwardly. Eliza knew this, for while Miss Stapleton spoke she felt his body stiffen beside her.

  “I heard him praise the color of your hair and eyes. And once, he drew so close that he whispered in your ear. My friends and I saw you blush.” Miss Stapleton wagged a finger at Eliza and giggled. “You must beware of Halston. He purports himself to be a man of high Christian morals, but his actions speak otherwise.”

  Not able to help herself, Eliza heaved a breath and bit down on her tongue to hold back what she wanted to say. No. She could not embarrass her husband by reprimanding Miss Busybody.

  Miss Stapleton cocked her head to one side. “You are new to our country. It is not your fault he would be so infatuated.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Hayward strode across the room, through the weave of dance partners, to where Halston stood with his back turned. Eliza’s heart went up into her throat. Hayward clapped his hand over Halston’s shoulder. Halston turned, and their eyes locked.

  “Oh, perhaps I said too much.” Miss Stapleton said.

  “Far too much, ma’am.” Eliza went forward, her head swimming with what to do to prevent a confrontation that could result in disaster. As she drew closer, she met Halston’s eyes momentarily and she made sure to scowl at him.

  Halston gestured toward Eliza. “Does your wife trail behind you in most instances, sir? Why, she should be hanging on your arm. If she were mine, I’d not allow her to leave my side. I’d be showing her off to every man in the room, inciting their envy.”

  Hayward flexed his fists at his side. “You have taken liberties with her that I will not stand for.”

  Halston’s expression remained calm and reserved. “Neither by word nor deed did I say or do anything that was not honorable.”

  “It has widely spread that you did. I forbid you to speak to my wife again.”

  Halston looked him straight in the eyes. “Take care, sir. Some women welcome the attention of other men, if neglected.”

  With her temples pounding, Eliza reached for her husband’s hand. But before she could grasp it, Hayward snatched Halston by his collar and yanked him forward. “You know nothing of my wife.” Then he released him. Halston’s face turned scarlet, and he set his mouth firm.

  Without delay, Hayward took hold of Eliza’s arm and strode with her out of the ballroom. They went down the broad stairs to their carriage. She climbed inside and leaned toward him before he shut the door. “Please do not be angry.”

  “I am not angry with you. But you should not have let him speak to you for so long. Everyone, it seems, noticed.”

  “I should have been more guarded.”

  “Well, I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

  “But you had important matters to discuss with the gentlemen. And then . . .”

  “Yes, word came of the fighting.”

  Her heart ached. “Come sit beside me.” Beside her now, he put his arm around her shoulders. Her eyes filled as she absorbed this show of affection. Her prayers were answered, she hoped, that he loved her—finally. Or had it been there all along? “How will I do without you, my love?”

  Sighing, Hayward drew her close. “We may be separated by war for a time. But nothing shall come between us.”

  In each other’s arms, they sunk back against the seat, into the corner sheltered from the fading sunlight. As the carriage rolled on, a mockingbird’s song echoed through the trees, and the scent of dusty leaves rose out of the forest. Eliza wondered if it was the roar of the rapids in the river she heard? Or was it the cry of her soul that had been borne on the wind?

  15

  Three days had drifted slowly by, and still Hayward had not returned home. Eliza had spent a restless night, and lay awake thinking of him, praying that the Lord would provide a way other than war to bring the Colonies freedom, and that He would soften the King’s heart. She tossed and turned, and when she finally fell to sleep, the sound of the wind blowing through the elms woke her. Donning a linen robe, she slipped out of bed and went to the window. The night sky hung heavy with clouds, and the wind blew across the land like the breath of a Titan.

  She listened to the wind moan and rage against the walls of her house. She thought she heard the hollow sound of horse’s hooves on the road beyond. But when the wind lessened, the only sound that remained was the rain pelting the roof.

  With a heavy sigh, she returned to bed, and smiled when a flutter moved across her belly. She laid her hand there, and, feeling content, slept until dawn.

  The moment morning broke over the hills and spilled through the windows at River Run, Eliza bathed, dressed, and hurried downstairs, her bare feet pattering over the oak steps. Fiona met her at the landing.

  “Good morn, my girl. Hope you have a hearty appetite this morning. The hens laid more eggs than expected.”

  Eliza pulled her long hair over one shoulder and drew her fingers through it. “I am hungry. Let us break our fast out on the porch. It is too glorious a morning to be inside.”

  Fiona slipped off to the kitchen, while Eliza stepped out the front door and breathed in the scent of honeysuckle. She watched a blue heron glide across the sky toward the river and listened to the faint hum of a bumblebee hovering over the wild daisies. “Weeping may endure for a night, but singing comes in the morning,” she whispered as songbirds grew boisterous with the strengthening sun.

  She sat down on the stoop, and shortly afterward Fiona handed her a plate of eggs and a mug of cold tea. Together they bowed their heads. Addison strode around the corner in work clothes, then paused and tipped his hat.

  Eliza smiled. “Good morn, Addison. Had your breakfast?”

  He smacked his lips. “Yes, ma’am. Mistress Goodall knows how to please a man with her cookery.” He winked at Fiona and she huffed. “ ’Tis the best I’ve ever had, next to my dear mother’s. God rest her soul.”

  “Aren’t you going to thank Addison for the compliment, Fiona?” Eliza said as she handed over her empty plate.

  Fiona pursed her lips. “Hmm. I suppose I must. I am not one to be so rude not to thank you, Addison.”

  “And I thank you, Mistress Goodall, for the fine shirt. I promise to keep it clean, and wear it to church, and not every day.”

  “I put a lot of work into it,” Fiona said. “To be careful with it will please me.”

  Eliza could not help but notice the way Addison looked at Fiona. Twenty years dissolved from his rugged face, and his eyes glowed. Yet to proclaim any feeling for her would be a feat for him. Fiona believed herself to be his better, and his knowledge of the world set them miles apart. Eliza had not gotten to know him much through conversation, but thought him to be one who strove to live a godly life. He never complained, and worked hard from sunup to sundown.

  “Have you heard any news along the river?” she asked.

  “No more than what I was told weeks ago, mistress. I did meet Mr. Halston along the road yesterday. I took Nell to be shod, and he was good enough to give pause to speak to me. He asked about you, said he’d seen you the day before while you were out walking.”

  The happiness of the day sunk in her. Halston had seen her out strolling on her own and had said nothing? Why had he not made his presence known or greeted her in a friendly way? “For how long did he watch me, did he say?”

  “I don’t know, mistress. He told me I should go with yo
u when you’re out walking, when Mr. Hayward is away from home, that it isn’t safe for you to be out on your own.”

  “I am fine. I take my pistol with me just in case. But if you want to come along, you may. And if you happen to see Mr. Halston again, tell him I do not fancy being watched. He should speak to me the next time.”

  Addison nodded and pulled down his tricorn hat. “I reckon Mr. Hayward will be home soon. If I don’t get my work done, he’ll not be happy.”

  Eliza lifted her eyes toward the place where their lane turned out onto the river path. “He has been gone four days.”

  Addison followed the direction of her eyes. “Don’t fear, mistress. He’ll be back soon and full of vinegar, I imagine. Talk of war seems to do that to men.”

  “That is true . . . Now I shall walk along the creek to the path where I can see the river.”

  Addison gave her a quick bow and headed toward the stable. Eliza stepped down from the porch, gathering her hair into a knot so as to feel the breeze touch the back of her neck. Sunlight sparkled through the trees, and the leaves twisted and turned. At the bank of Israel Creek, she found a patch of blue forget-me-nots. She bent down and ran her hand across the blossoms. The gallop of a horse grew louder, and she stood.

  Hayward. My beloved!

  Out of the dusky light, a riderless horse appeared. The reins dragged along the dirt, and the horse shook its mane and snorted. Refusing to believe what her eyes beheld, Eliza stood motionless, her breath coming in short gasps. Omega flared his nostrils, lifted his head, and stood still in the middle of the road. She ran to him, and, taking the reins in hand, she soothed the horse with gentle words and touches.

  There were no signs of injury to the horse. No sign of a struggle of any kind. Hayward’s saddlebag and musket were untouched. She called out to Fiona, to Addison. She led Omega back toward home, reaching the lane breathless and tearful. Addison met her at a sprint as Fiona hurried down the porch stairs.

  She struggled to get the words out. “He came down the road without my husband.”

  “I know this trail and these woods better than any man along this river,” said Addison. “I’ll find Mr. Hayward. You have my word on it.”

  Addison mounted the stallion, turned it around, and galloped off.

  16

  Eliza walked an anxious quarter mile with Fiona hastening beside her. Not once had her steps slowed as she hurried down the path shaded by ancient trees. She scolded herself for not thinking to fetch her mare and follow after Addison. He hollered up the road, galloping back at breakneck speed. Rounding the bend, he jerked on the reins, and the horse halted abruptly.

  “Not far . . . I found him . . .” Addison steadied the horse as it turned in a circle. “He was thrown from the saddle. Alive, thank the Lord.”

  Eliza’s heart pounded. “Is he badly hurt?”

  “Yes. He’s hurt all right.”

  Her mind whirled with fear. “I must go to him. Give me a landmark—something to go by.”

  “He’s under the sycamore, the one with the markings of the Shawnee, about a quarter mile down the road.”

  “Hurry and fetch a litter, Addison. There is no time to lose.”

  With his face set like flint, Addison urged the horse into motion with a swift kick of his heels. Eliza hurried, gathered her skirts to her knees, and, once she was a distance down the road, her eyes searched intently for the sycamore. Somewhere within those dim and fearsome shadows, upon the tall grass alongside the dusty way, lay her beloved.

  The long trill of a cicada signaled the coming heat of the day. Eliza wiped the sweat off her forehead with her sleeve and rushed on. Fiona lagged behind. Just beyond a crop of willows stood the old tree, and upon sight of it, Eliza’s heart grew in her throat, and she ran toward it.

  Hayward lay with one arm beneath him, his head cradled in the crook of the other. His hair was matted with blood above his left ear. A scarlet trail of it curved down his neck and stained his stark white neckcloth.

  Eliza fell to her knees beside him. Eyes closed, he made no response to the trembling sound of her voice. With deft fingers she felt his warm skin and the pulse that passed through his body. Tears fell from her eyes, and she swiped them away with the back of her hand.

  “He makes no sound,” she said to Fiona. “Oh, he is badly injured.” She tore the hem of her chemise, the cotton cloth giving way easily to the strength of her hands. Wrapping the cloth carefully around his head, she spoke softly. She tore another and handed it to Fiona. Down the bank to the river Fiona hurried, then returned with the cloth soaked with water. Eliza touched Hayward’s lips with it, and ran it gently over his face, hoping to revive him. A moment later his eyes slowly opened, and he moaned.

  Eliza stroked his forehead. “Lie still, my love.”

  “Eliza . . .” He grimaced in pain and strove to move.

  “You have had a fall and must not move.”

  “Horse . . . I . . .” His eyes closed again. The reality that his injury could mean his life coursed through her, as if an icy hand had grabbed hold of her and tapped frozen fingers over her skin.

  “Do not take him from me, Lord. Be with him now, and show me what to do.” She kissed Hayward’s face as her tears dropped onto his hair.

  Clouds gathered over the Potomac and made their way to River Run, up the hillsides and across the fields. The threat of a thunderstorm hung in the air, and all the birds had stilled by the time they carried Hayward to the door. He had not woken, nor had he stirred the whole time they hurried with him upon the litter, down the road and over the path to the house. Every fiber in Eliza trembled. Her hands turned white as she gripped the handles of the litter, her eyes not leaving his face, not for a moment.

  She gave instructions to her servants as they lifted Hayward with great care from the litter onto the bed. “Open the windows wider, Fiona. We must allow as much fresh air in as possible . . . Bring me the quilt in the chest so I may cover him with it. Addison, do not stand there. You must ride like the wind and bring a doctor.”

  A quick nod, and Addison hurried out the door. She listened to his hurried footsteps run down the stairs and then Omega galloping off. A breeze filled with the scent of rain passed through the windows.

  Eliza ran her hands along her husband’s arms. No broken bones. But when she touched his thigh, a moan raked his throat. He tried to rise, and she moved him back.

  “What should we do, dear girl?” Fiona threw her hand across her mouth and stifled a sob. “Poor Mr. Hayward.”

  “We need water.”

  She gazed at him, her vision blurred by tears. Tucking the quilt close to his body, Eliza whispered all would be well. God would see to it.

  From the pitcher, Fiona filled the blue porcelain bowl on the washstand and brought it to the bedside. Eliza dipped a cloth into the water, wrung it out, and touched Hayward’s brow. Blood seeped through the cloth that pressed against his wound.

  Her hand trembled. “He bleeds so.”

  “Head wounds always do, my girl. Do not be troubled.”

  “How can I not be? He is gravely hurt. Pray for him, Fiona. God cannot take him from me.” She turned to the woman who always comforted her in times of crisis. “He would not do that, would God, Fiona? Not now. Not when he has shown me he loves me, and that, well, I have not told you, not even Hayward, that I carry his child.”

  Fiona’s brows shot up. “You are with child? And you helped carry your husband on that litter. I do say, Eliza, I sometimes wonder . . .”

  “If I have any common sense in my head?”

  Fiona shook hers from side to side. “Oh, ’tis there. But I wonder if you use it. You cannot do tasks like that when you are carrying a babe. Never mind all the reasons why. ’Tis only common sense.”

  Sighing, Eliza reached over and touched Fiona’s hand. “You worry a great deal over me. I’ll be more careful. But for now, turn your mind to my husband.”

  “Here, let me do that.” Fiona took the cloth from Eliza’s
hand. “You sit beside the bed and hold his hand.” And so Eliza obeyed Fiona’s wisdom and sank into the chair. The breeze flowed through the window and brushed over her face, cool and comforting.

  “Eliza . . .” Hayward turned his head to see her. His gaze fell on her face, but it seemed as though he did not see her.

  She pressed his hand to her cheek. He wet his lips with his tongue. “Snake . . . Omega.” He then drifted off.

  Eliza looked over at Fiona. “A snake frightened the horse. It must have reared and thrown him off.”

  Hayward moaned. Eliza untied Hayward’s neckcloth and slipped it away from his throat, loosened his shirt, and laid her hand on his chest to feel the beat of his heart.

  “I must set my heart to prayer.” Drawing in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and prayed as she had never prayed before.

  Fiona lit a candle, for the room had grown dark with the thickening sky. She drew beside Eliza, knelt next to her, and folded her hands. “And Jesus saith unto him,” she quoted, “I will come and heal him.”

  Two hours passed with no sign of Addison or the doctor. Eliza stayed at her husband’s bedside. He lay so still that at times terror seized her, and she would lean close to hear his breathing, in agony, not knowing whether he were still with her.

  By the time the clock on the mantelpiece chimed another hour, a pair of horses galloped down the lane and halted at the door. Footsteps climbed the stairs, and Fiona hurried to open the door and go out into the hall. She returned, tugging a black-clad man by his sleeve. He brushed her off, smoothed his waistcoat, and set his bag on the foot of the bed.

  Placing the back of his hand on Hayward’s brow, he paused, his brown eyes attentive to the task. He lifted Hayward’s wrist and timed his pulse with his pocket watch.

  “There is no fever, Mrs. Morgan. But your husband may have suffered a concussion. You must keep him still, you understand.” She nodded and kept her eyes intent upon the doctor’s face. From it she could read more than he might want to tell her. He went on examining Hayward’s wound. “You must keep this clean. Change the bandage every day.”