Before the Scarlet Dawn

22





In time the snow melted. Streams flooded, and the Potomac swelled its banks in springtime. Summer brought thunderstorms and drought. Yet Eliza’s garden flourished and they did not starve. The fruits of autumn were abundant, with a bounty of apples and pumpkins. Farmers harvested their wheat, brought it to the mill, and supplied River Run with enough flour to last the winter.

On a spring day, from the edge of the hilltop that overlooked the river, Eliza gazed down at the deep, blue water. Swift currents tumbled over rocks, washed over sandbars, and swirled around the trees that lined the mossy slopes.

“I will trust in your protection, Lord, that the shadow of your mighty wing will cover my child. I am afraid of being here alone without Hayward. Please protect him.” She paused, cautious of what her lips wished to confess. “I am troubled in my mind and heart, for I do not know whether he is living or dead.”

Fiona called out to her while holding Darcy’s hand to keep her from following her mother. “Come away, Eliza. You are too close to the edge. ’Tis dangerous.”

“You can see how vast the gorge is from up here,” Eliza called back. “There are signs of spring. Green and crimson buds are on the trees.”

She gathered her skirts and followed the trail that led down the hill to a level plain. Fiona met her with a smile, and Eliza took Darcy’s hand and led the way along the path where dogwoods and rhododendron grew. Sunlight sparkled through the branches, and she paused and thought of her husband.

A fortnight ago, she had sent two letters by post rider. “I hope your letters to Mr. Morgan will reach him soon,” Fiona said. “The post rider’s horse looked poorly.”

“I’ve decided to no longer worry whether he will answer. There may be reasons why he cannot. What matters is that he should receive word from home.”

“You say that, my girl, but I know better. How can you not worry?”

Eliza put her arm around Fiona’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “You understand me so well. And I love you for it.”

Along the trail, purple crocus peeked through a patch of green under the shade of the elms. She paused, leaned forward, and admired them. “Are they not lovely, Darcy? Come, you may pick them if you wish.” The tiny hands gripped a bloom and tore it away. “Here, let me help you, my darling.”

Nature had a way of lifting Eliza’s spirits. She felt closer to her Creator here, more than within any four walls made by man’s hands. Her nearness to Him gave her pause to ask for Hayward’s safety. She thought of the Hope Valley so far away, and how he had come to her rescue upon his horse with his boarhound striding alongside him. Visions of the vicarage where she grew up came to her as well.

“Remember how the spring wildflowers peppered the hills and meadows back home?” Fiona said. “And oh, the heather on the moors!”

“Sometimes I miss them,” Eliza said.

“Yes, but it was too windy in the valley. I am glad to have come here, and I’ll not pause to regret the past.”

“I am remembering Papa.” A tear slipped from Eliza’s eye, and she brushed it away. “I cannot help it. I miss him so much.”

With a sigh, Fiona looped her arm through Eliza’s. “Well, let us not forget God’s promise. He shall wipe away all tears from our eyes, and there will be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain. It keeps a grieving spirit sane.”

As they neared the house, a buck appeared at the edge of the woods, and several does wandered out into the sunlit meadow. Eliza shaded her eyes. “I think we have enough venison to last until October. I am glad Hayward insisted I learn how to shoot his long rifle. I’ve never killed anything in my life, but come autumn I will need to fell a deer.”

“There are turkeys in the woods too, and wild raspberries to pick.”

“And we have our herb garden and chickens.”

“The corn seed has sprouted in the garden along with the cabbages. Let us pray the Lord gives us enough rain this season.”

Fiona took Darcy’s hand and headed on. Eliza watched them walk together with the sunshine falling over their bonnets and alighting on the path. They were her responsibility, and she would not see them starve, not as long as she had breath in her body.

Upon the kitchen table sat a bowl of bright yellow apples, the last from a bountiful autumn crop kept in the cold cellar. Setting Darcy in the ladder-back chair at the table, Eliza chose one and polished it against her apron, Darcy watching her all the while with shiny brown eyes. Against the oak cutting board, she sliced the apple into thin wedges ribboned with the golden skin. Then she gathered the pieces into her hands and arranged them on a pewter plate for her daughter.

Fiona stepped out the door, humming, the egg basket in her arm. A moment passed quietly, and the breeze blew through the open window, fluttered the muslin curtains, and trembled the wildflowers in the jar beneath it. Eliza jumped when Fiona shrieked and bounded back inside, her face white as the mob-cap she wore.

“There’s a snake in the coop,” Fiona cried. “I saw him in one of the nests when I opened the door. He’s eating the eggs. And the poor hens for fear of him are roosting in the rafters.”

Without hesitation, Eliza lifted the loaded musket from where it hung from two pegs on the wall above the hearth. “Stay with Darcy, Fiona. If I do not get him, he will eat all the eggs and then the chicks.”

When she stepped inside the darkened coop, where shards of dusty sunlight poured through the cracks, she looked to see the hens perched together, staring down at her as they murmured and clucked. Her rooster paced out in the yard making a ruckus and puffing out his feathers. Eliza scrutinized the nests and backed away upon sight of the snake’s sleek body slipping over the edge of the box and down to the straw-laden floor. The head she could not see, but she frowned at the sight of the egg-shaped bulge. A shiver rushed through her limbs, as her hands gripped the long rifle. She raised it to her shoulder and cocked the hammer. But before she could fire, the serpent wound its way through a crack in the boards and slipped out.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” She hoisted her skirts to her knees with one hand and hurried to the back of the coop, where the snake wound its way between clumps of grass. She raised the rifle again, sucked in her breath, and took aim. Squeezing the trigger, the musket cracked. Smoke blinded her view, and she stumbled back. Fanning it away, she stepped cautiously forward and looked to see if she had gotten the dreadful intruder. Indeed she had, for the snake’s flesh was torn open—red and motionless against the grass.

She smiled. Hayward would be so proud of me. Then her breath caught in her throat at the cry of a jay. And when a flock of sparrows sprang from the edge of the forest, a cold sweat prickled over her skin. Hayward had taught her the signs, and she made Fiona swear to hide with Darcy at the first hint of danger.

If only she had brought the powder and shot with her. She could reload and defend herself as she fled to the house. She saw an Indian glide between the trees. Fear swept over her from limb to limb. He carried a tomahawk decorated with turkey feathers, and the black mask of the wolf covered his eyes.

“Help us, God.” Slowly she backed up, then turned and ran, hoping the Indian had not seen her. Fiona stood at the window. Eliza could not call out. The brave would hear her. She fixed her eyes on Fiona and made a motion with her hand for her to move back. “Indians! Hide. Hide,” she mouthed the words, and saw Fiona’s eyes widen. Did she understand?

The toe of Eliza’s boot caught a stone, and she fell forward. She sobbed and through the strands of hair that crossed her eyes, she looked up to see Fiona gone. Thank you, God. Protect my daughter and servant.

Her legs scrambled and her hands pushed against the earth in her effort to get to her feet. But a pair of calloused fingers dug into her neck and hauled her up. She twisted against her attacker, kicking and clawing until the cold blade of his knife met her throat. All atremble, her legs weak and giving way, she surrendered to the power that held her.