Before the Scarlet Dawn

Part 2





I am in torment within, and in my heart I am disturbed.

Lamentations 1:20a niv





20





Since Hayward’s departure, the summers had sweltered, and every stream flowed low through the valley as dust covered leaf and vine. On a hot July night in 1776, the Declaration of Independence was read publicly, and patriots took their stands in the fields and meadows across the Thirteen, engaging not only the British, but also the Crown’s Indian allies.

Winters were raw and bitter. The Potomac froze so deep that it could be walked across from one side to the other. Wolves grew bold with hunger, and turkey buzzards could be seen circling the sky, spying out carrion.

Two years he’d been gone, and Eliza, never growing accustomed to his absence, sat one gray morning in an armchair reading over a letter she had finished writing to Hayward. For a moment, she glanced down at Darcy and watched her place wooden blocks around the cloth doll she had made for her. The blocks tumbled down, and Darcy gathered her doll and cradled it close. It made Eliza smile, and she wondered at the swiftness of the years passing, how quickly Darcy was growing, how she looked so much like her father with her own tumble of brown curls and her dark eyes.

“Hayward is missing so much, Fiona. If only he could have been here to see Darcy grow. He would be proud of her, I know.”

Fiona drew a needle with scarlet thread through the fabric and tugged at the thread. “ ’Tis hard to believe she is two already.”

“Indeed. It grieves me she does not know him.”

“Well, perhaps he will come home soon, my girl.”

“I pray that is so. If only he would write to me like he promised, I would not worry.”

“It may be hard for soldiers to get letters back to their families. But I’m sure whatever letters you may have sent, he has been the better for them.”

Eliza picked up a piece of needlework from her basket and studied it a moment before setting it on her lap. “You may not approve, but I have asked Reverend Hopewell for help.”

Fiona looked askance at Eliza. “Reverend Hopewell? What can he do?”

“He told me he has connections in the army and would inquire about Hayward. I am grateful for it, for when we finally hear that he is safe and sound, I will not worry so much.”

“It is good of the Reverend. Let us pray the Lord directs his inquiries into the right hands. And I’ve no doubt you’ll receive a letter of your own from Mr. Morgan that will explain everything.” Fiona smiled and leaned forward. “He’ll ask for your forgiveness for being so neglectful. You’ll see.”

No matter how Fiona tried to assure her, Eliza could not accept any reason for her husband’s lack of communication. Night after night, she prayed for his safety, that the war would be over and he would come riding down their lane with his hand raised high to her. They would start again where they had left off, and have more children to run about the house. She managed to keep the mill running, bringing enough money in to meet their needs, and kept the books in order. He’d be proud.

Mr. Hopewell’s sermons had also been a source of strength for Eliza. She clung to every scripture he read, and strove to absorb the meaning in his words. Grace Church stood on a rise of ground a mile from the river, with a congregation now consisting mostly of women, old men, and children. One hundred souls were present during the warmer months, but when the frigid winds of winter blew and the snow lay deep, fewer left their hearth fires to attend a Sunday service.

As the Revolution wound on, people stayed at home when word had reached the settlements, farms, and plantations that British soldiers had been trampling through the wilderness of the Virginias and the Maryland frontiers. Fortunately for Eliza and her family at River Run, they had not seen a single Redcoat or Indian brave.

Eliza felt restless. A slate sky hung over River Run with bands of indistinct clouds in variegated hues of gray and dreary white. Trees stood motionless along the riverbank, where the current trickled beneath sheets of glassy ice. No wind blew that day, and a biting cold fell over the land and sunk into the marrow. Every hearth in the house burned bright with piles of logs. Beneath them glowed red-hot coals and powder-gray ash.

Eliza drew her cloak over her shoulders and passed from the foyer to the front door, then out onto the porch. Her breath came out in pale wisps against the frigid air. Outside, the cold touched her face in one freezing embrace. Her lips parted, and she scanned the sky. The clouds were heavy, oppressive, and threatening.

Longing for Hayward filled her, along with the sense something was about to burst loose upon the land and smother River Run in a treacherous siege.





In the dark, the candle on Eliza’s bed table gently burned. The gilded flame flickered as the fire in her hearth lent gentle warmth to the room. She lay across her bed and stared at the gold-netted ripples of light moving over the ceiling. Her dreams found room between lonely hours, but tonight she found no sleep to escape into them.

She cried a little. Then she rallied her courage to drive back her emotions and wiped her face dry with a brisk sweep of her palm. Darcy slept in the room across from hers. When she heard her whimper, “Mama,” Eliza rose, donned her wrap, and went to her. To gather her child in her arms, to look down into her angelic face, gave Eliza reason to go forward and faith to hold on.

“Lord, what would I do without Darcy?” At the sound of Eliza’s voice, Darcy opened her eyes and through a tumble of hair looked up at her mother. Eliza kissed her cheek. “You were sent from Heaven, my sweet girl, to comfort me. Did you know that?” Darcy rubbed her eyes. “Now you must go back to sleep. Dream about your dear papa, and he will come home soon.”

Eliza tucked the covers around her daughter and smoothed the crown of her head with a gentle hand. She stepped out into the hallway, and as she laid her fingers over the cold brass knob, she saw Fiona coming up the stairs with a tray.

“I heard you moving about and brought mint tea to settle you, my girl. ’Tis a cold night, and Addison says there are signs of snow coming.” She followed Eliza inside, set the tray down, and handed her a mug of hot tea.

What kind of signs?” Eliza asked, holding the mug between her hands.

Fiona shrugged. “Hmm, he says the birds are nowhere to be seen.”

“I had noticed.” Eliza stepped to the window. “Not a star in the sky tonight. It is so thick with clouds . . . But we’ve had snow before. Nothing to worry over. We’ve extra wood and kindling inside and plenty of venison in the cold cellar.”

“And an abundance of my mint to keep off the chill. You know I found it growing wild and dried it myself. It is not as tasteful as our English tea, but it has a soothing effect.” Fiona drew an extra blanket out of Eliza’s cedar chest. She appeared nervous as she smoothed it out over the foot of the bed.

“What is troubling you, Fiona?” Eliza asked.

Fiona wrung her hands—hands that Eliza noticed had grown spotted and slightly gnarled with age. Her hair was so gray. “I don’t know,” Fiona replied. “But I feel uneasy and a little afraid.”

With a sigh, Eliza set her mug down and placed her hands on her servant’s shoulders. “There is naught to fear. We have each other, and God will watch over us. You were never afraid of snow before.”

“I know, but tonight feels different. And with Mr. Hayward away—oh, I wish he hadn’t left.” She looked straight into Eliza’s eyes, a pleading look that sought validation. “Mr. Halston is our nearest neighbor and the only well-bodied man who has not gone off to fight. Surely he’d come if he thought we needed help.”

“I have no doubt he would. And surely he would call upon Mrs. Rhendon at Twin Oaks as well, and the other ladies who are without their men, to see how they fare.”

Fiona shook her head. “Mrs. Rhendon has plenty of servants to watch after her. But we are different.”

After Fiona had removed the tea tray and gone to bed, a dreadful anguish deepened inside Eliza as she thought of Hayward. Sharp fear stabbed her, wondering if he were warm this night, wherever he was. Was he hungry? Sick?

All that night, in those moments when sleep eluded her, she shut her eyes, envisioned his face, and pretended that he lay next to her, his arms holding her close. Before she drifted off to sleep, she conversed with God about her feelings.

“Why hasn’t he written to me? Please, tonight, remind him of home. Let him think of me, long for me, so much that he will send me word of his condition. The pain of missing him is hard to bear, Lord. Thank you for giving me the strength to make it through these days. Watch over Hayward and bring him home soon.”

She glanced over at her bed table to an unopened letter that she had left on the pewter plate next to the candlestick. Even though she had asked Halston not to send her letters of a personal nature, he continued to do so. His missives were mild, only expressing that if she needed him at River Run for any reason she should summon him. She had replied, asking him only to send her word if he had news about Hayward. Perhaps this time he had news for her, and so she reached over, and broke the scarlet seal.



I am lonely here, and wish to call upon you, only to inquire as to your well-being and to enjoy your company for a few precious moments, since we are good friends and neighbors. I have not received word as to Mr. Morgan, but believe I shall soon enough. I have no doubt General Greene will search him out among his ranks and reply to my letter.

And having had enough time to determine where I stand in breaking with England, I have decided to set my affairs in order and join the regiment. If it pleases you, you may now refer to me as a Patriot.

Lastly, I paid a call to Mrs. Rhendon, who has been ill these past few months, and she had reports to tell of my cousin, Mr. Rhendon, who was slightly wounded in the shoulder during the defense of Philadelphia, but has recovered.

She sends her kindest regards.

Your servant,

Jeremy Halston



The mixed feelings his letter brought startled her. Hope concerning Hayward drew a sigh, and yet, the words I am lonely, few precious moments, and your servant, along with the news he’d be joining the fight, caught her breath. She laid the paper against the flame of the candle, watched the edge burn and curl, and then placed it in the dish, where it fell apart in flakes of powdery gray.

She would not reply to his letter.

Later, snow began to fall in earnest, and she woke to the crackling of icy flakes pelting the window glass. The clock on her mantle tapped out midnight. She slipped out of bed, and as soon as her feet touched the cold floor, the wind rose and shook the four walls of the house. All the shutters had been closed and latched, but the gale blew so fiercely one came loose and with a deafening whack banged against the stone.

Eliza hurried to the window, lifted the sash against the grip of the relentless wind, reached out with it lashing against her body, and pulled the shutters back with all her strength. She pushed the hook down into place to hold them closed and shut the window tight.

Never had she felt such bone-chilling cold. Snow had dampened her chemise, and she shook it before the fire. Then the wind rose again—this time sounding like it would crush down the walls and tear into every tree that surrounded them. Eliza froze with fear. The wind rushed over her, through her limbs to the tips of her fingers, leaving her cold and shivering. She hurried out the door into Darcy’s room for fear the storm would frighten her child. Amazed to find Darcy had slept through the tumult, Eliza drew the blanket closer to her daughter’s chin.

The fire in the corner hearth struggled against the force of air that raced down the flue. She set another log over the blaze of coals and tucked her wrap tighter about her shoulders. She sat in the chair near Darcy’s bed and listened to the relentless wind batter the house. The fire could not conquer the cold and the wind that sucked at the chimney.

By two in the morning, the storm had mounted into a blizzard. Snow blew sideways across the land, whirling in an unstoppable tide of hurricane-force gales so furious the trees bent. Limbs cracked, some at a distance, others close by. They snapped off and toppled to the ground. Horrific and chilling were the breaking of the trees and the moaning gales. Eliza went down on her knees beside Darcy’s bed and prayed while gripping the bedcovers tight in her fists.

A soft knock, and the door opened. Addison stood within the darkened entrance, his chest heaving, his greatcoat slathered and wet with snow. Fiona stood behind him, candlestick in hand, the amber flame showing on her face, her cap covering her hair, and a gray mantle thrown over her shoulders.

“Mistress,” Addison said. “I’ve secured the stable as best I could, and all the doors and shutters. I must ask that you and Miss Darcy retreat downstairs. The temperature is dropping so rapidly, and the wind blowing so fierce, we’ll not be able to keep the rooms warm even with fires burning in all the hearths.”

As he spoke, Eliza caught the fearful expression in his eyes. He coughed and she grew worried, for she had noticed a malaise had come over him the morning before. “You are not to go out again, Addison. Stay with us downstairs. Fiona, we will need tea and provisions.”

“Can’t stay in the kitchen, mistress.”

“Why not? It is the largest hearth in the house.” She pulled the blankets from her bed and handed them to Fiona.

“True, mistress. But its size lets more wind into the flue and it’ll be harder to keep the fire alight. The best is the sitting room.”

Eliza agreed. Addison stepped aside, and Eliza gently woke Darcy. She slipped woolen stockings over the child’s legs and put her warmest dress on her. Then they headed downstairs to their sanctuary.

In the sitting room, a fire glowed in the grate and battled the bitter chill that had laid siege on the house. Firelight shimmered across the floor and the opaque walls. A constant rush of wind deafened the ears against the crackling of the blaze. Eliza set Darcy down on the settee and laid a blanket over her. Addison banked the fire, his hands shaking with cold. Fiona returned from the kitchen with a basket full of provisions, including a tin of her tea and the copper kettle.

Eliza stepped across the used Turkish carpet Hayward had allowed her to buy from a passing peddler their first summer. Summer warmth—how she longed for it now as she shivered in the cold.

Anxious, she drew Darcy across her lap and held her close. She suddenly realized how old Addison looked. The first day she had arrived at River Run, his hair had shown no hint of silver. No longer robust as he once was, he stretched his gangly body before the fire and drew his greatcoat across him.

She’d let him sleep. And if the fire burned low, she would build it again.

“Oh, how the wind howls.” Her face contorted with worry, Fiona placed her hands over her cheeks. “Never in my life have I heard such wind. It does not stop. How long will the storm last?”

“I do not know. Let us hope it ends soon.” Eliza grabbed hold of Fiona’s hand. A blast of wind surged. It slammed against the house, shaking the walls and rattling the windows. “We must pray for God’s protection.” They huddled closer. “Father in Heaven, we are afraid. Comfort us. We are cold. Keep us warm and our fire burning. Watch over us. Keep us in the shelter of Your mighty wings . . .”

Fiona squeezed Eliza’s fingers. “It is written,” Eliza continued, “she is not afraid of the snow for her household: for all her household are clothed with scarlet. Amen.”

The tempest raged as if it were a living, breathing entity with an invisible fist raised against their faith—to test it, crush it through fear. Eliza drew her daughter into the crook of her arm. The danger all around them sunk into her core, and she cried out silently to the One who could bring them through to a safe haven. You stilled the storm with one word, Lord, and it obeyed you. Still my heart. Calm my fear. Protect us . . .

Harrowing cold seeped through the walls and brushed over her face. She felt Darcy’s cheek. So cold. Gently she drew the blanket tighter over her child. And as the wind battered River Run, she feared for them all—especially Darcy.