Before the Scarlet Dawn

30





Less than a week later, Hayward returned to River Run. Though Eliza had no idea what day he’d step through the door, she had prepared herself for his homecoming. She gave special attention to her hair, washing it with an egg mixture and rinsing it with rainwater from the barrel outside. She bathed and powdered her body, and scented her clothes with lavender.

She was standing out on the porch when he rode up and dismounted. A gentle smile graced her lips, and he looked at her, somewhat pleased at her appearance. Still, she wondered where he had gone.

“You are looking well, Eliza. Feeling better?”

“I am. Even more, now that you are home.” She lingered where she stood, even though the desire to hurry into his arms overwhelmed her. She waited, her palms slick and her heart yearning, as he dusted off his tricorn hat against his thigh and proceeded to the door.

He paused in front of her and looked down into her face. “I’ve had a long ride and am worn out. But I wish to speak with you.”

Swallowing her worry, she followed him inside. He pulled her by the arm into his study, then shut the door and locked it. “I do not want anyone disturbing us. Open the windows, if you would.”

The sashes went up easily for Eliza, and she breathed in the fresh air. Feeling hopeful, she turned back to Hayward, set her hand on his arm, leaned up, and kissed his cheek. He did not draw her to him as he used to. But he was tired, she thought. She must give him time to recover from his journey.

“Sit down, Eliza,” he told her in a level voice, absent of anger.

He sat across from her and leaned forward. Then he told her his plan—things she had not expected. But what good was it to argue? He was her husband, her head, and her law.

“Now, you must listen to me carefully,” he began. “I will have no opposition from you. My word is my will, and you must accept it. Remember wives are to obey their husbands in all things. Do you understand?”

A small spark of hope still lived within her. Perhaps his plan would somehow heal their marriage, and bring about the forgiveness she longed for. With her head low, she nodded. “Yes, I understand.”

“Good. Be silent as I speak.” He took a breath and proceeded. “I had this time away to think about our situation. I can forgive the fact you went to Halston thinking I was dead, that you were grieving and in despair, thus making you vulnerable. I can believe this was the first and only time you were alone with him. But I have no doubt he courted your friendship in order to weaken you to him. Everything you have told me, his aid during the snows and when the Indians attacked, gave him opportunity to win your affection. You were here alone, without me, and your loneliness was his mark. I cannot deny I am grateful he came to your aid, especially in regards to your capture. I have seen with my own eyes what the Indians can do to a woman. We can praise God you were spared.”

Eyes warm, she looked up at him. “Then you understand?”

“In some things I do.”

She touched his hand with gentle fingertips. “Then you are willing to begin again?”

Withdrawing, he settled back against the chair. “Yes, but not in the way you may be thinking.”

Disappointed, she felt her eyes flicker with tears. She fought them, steeling herself for the blow. “What do you mean, Hayward?”

“Your reputation has changed, Eliza. Did you not notice the way the women at Sabbath services snubbed you? How the men glowered. How Reverend Hopewell looked at you with a strange pity. They all know.”

“I am sorry, my love,” she said, her emotions rising.

“I know you are. But for both our sakes, and for Darcy, you must do the following if you are willing to save our marriage and safeguard our daughter.”

Determined to keep him, she answered, “I would do anything.”

“I am glad to hear it, because what I require you to do will cause you pain. But you must bear it. With God’s help you will.”

Her heart stood still and her blood ran cold. “Sometimes pain is necessary to heal a wound. Tell me, Hayward, what it is you want me to do.”

Shifting in his chair, he hesitated. Then he stood. “You and I are going to Annapolis. We leave tomorrow.”

A smile graced her lips, warmed her heart. Time away. Time to renew their love and commitment to one another. It seemed the perfect plan. “Annapolis? Yes, it will be good for us to go away for a little while, to get to know each other again, love again . . .”

Displeasure glinted in his eyes. He raised his hand to stop her from going any further. “No, Eliza. Say nothing more. Just listen to me.” His gruff tone arrested her, and caused her hopes to plunge.

“I received word that my father has passed away—a heart ailment of some kind, or more likely a blood vessel ruptured when he was in a rage. It has caused a malaise to overtake my mother. She is gravely ill. I met with Will on his way to settling in a house not far from here. His wife is too frail to leave his side . . .”

Eliza’s sadness lifted. “Your half brother, his wife and children? They are settling here after all?”

“Must you interrupt me?”

She lowered her eyes. “I am sorry. I did not mean to. It’s just that this is very good news.”

“It has little to do with what my plans are for us. In Annapolis, you will board a ship, where you are to go back to England . . . You are to help my mother recover.”

Fear pulsed through her, and she stood. “No.”

“You will obey me in this, Eliza.”

“Hayward, please. Oh, God . . .”

“You are to stay at Havendale until she is well.”

“It could be months, perhaps a year or more. And Darcy is too young to be without me. And why can we not all go to England together? Why must you send me alone?”

“I have already explained why. I shouldn’t have to repeat myself.”

Tears drifted down her cheeks. “Can I not take Darcy with me?”

“Not when my mother is so ill.”

Bewildered, she shook her head. “Why should we separate and give up our life because of a few gossips? In time, they will forget. I know that is the true reason you want to send me away. You are worried about your good name, which you say I have blackened. Our love is more important than what people think.”

“Stop the tears, Eliza. I won’t be swayed by them.”

She swiped the tears off her face and sat down. Indifference shone on Hayward’s face. Sunlight came through the window, blanching her face, and she gazed up at him. If words could not plead her case, her look could. “Do not send me away. Please. I cannot be without Darcy or you. Do not separate us.”

The silence that came over Hayward said it all. Eliza knew she could not reason with him, or change his mind. Her remorse deepened. Her sin had damaged all those she loved. Even River Run suffered in the heat, in the flame that consumed all their hopes and dreams for a good life and a lasting legacy. No longer would this be the blessed land Hayward had fought for. She had shattered both his heart and his dreams.

He took her hands in his and gently held them. “Eliza, my love, I know this is hard, but you must trust me. Besides, as my wife, you have a duty to make sure my mother is cared for as she should be. You want to make things better, do you not? Then do as I say.”

Long she stared into his eyes. Perhaps by obeying him there would be redemption. Perhaps this step was a way of binding their wounds. But to go away alone, without him, without Darcy, to care for his ill mother, a woman she hardly knew? Indeed, he told her right. His plan would cause her a great deal of pain. She gazed into his eyes. “It is a difficult thing you require of me.”

“Here, read her letter. It should convince you I am right. She specifically asks for you. How can you deny her or me?”

It taxed her emotions—his mother’s pleas, her expressions of discomfort and pain, her regret she had not known Eliza, that they had left England without a word to her. Her illness grew worse as the dull days dragged on. If Eliza could come to me, only for a time, I would find comfort in her company.

Folding the letter closed, Eliza set it aside, and pulled in a ragged breath. “You are my husband. If this is what you want, I will do as you say.”

Pleased, he kissed her hands, then stood and pulled her up to him. “Go upstairs and pack. I will explain to Darcy.”

Eliza wondered how her daughter would ever understand. She prayed and cried that night as she fell in and out of sleep. Agonizing over leaving River Run—and the daughter she loved—brought her renewed sorrow. In the morning, she came down the staircase one last time. She had fixed her hair, and along one side it fell over her shoulder in thick ringlets. To dress her finest she hoped would plague Hayward’s heart. She wanted him to look at her with desire in his eyes. She wanted his heart to ache with missing her, not after she was gone, but long before.

As she came down the stairs and saw him turn to her, and his eyes take her in, she momentarily felt guilty for wanting him to feel this way—for wanting to punish him for what he asked of her.

The plum-colored gown graced her form with a white cotton underdress, delicate lace cuffs, and matching striped ribbon sash. Over her arm she carried her favorite cloak of burgundy wool to cover her during the journey.

The front door stood open. A pair of horses, saddled and waiting, swished their tails. When Hayward placed his hat on his head and walked out the door, Fiona threw her arms around Eliza and kissed her cheek.

“Worry not, my girl. I will look after Darcy while you’re away. And in time, we will all be back together. Mr. Hayward said so.” She dabbed her wet eyes with her apron. “But ’tis cruel he will not let me go with you,” she whispered through her sobs.

Sarah met Eliza at the door. She stopped suddenly inside the door frame, where the sunlight fell over her hair. Sadness shone in her eyes.

“God bless you, Eliza,” she cried out.

Eliza embraced her. “You have been my dear friend, Sarah. I pray that you find the love you seek.”

Sarah turned and struggled down the steps. Eliza gazed after her, saw her walk out into the meadow limping, her hands clenched and her head low.

“Mama,” came a small voice behind Eliza.

Turning swiftly, Eliza went down on her knees and gathered Darcy into her arms. She clung to her child, kissed her cheeks, and soothed her with all the words a mother could. “Just for a little while, my darling.”

Darcy’s quiet sobs were more than Eliza could bear. She held her daughter closer. “Oh, how my heart breaks to leave you. Remember I love you so. Never forget, Darcy. Never . . .”

Hayward’s hand fell over her shoulder, and he pulled her away. Grieved, she felt her body shake beneath the folds of her gown. She heard Darcy whimper. She halted. A cry tightened in her throat, and she battled it back, shutting her eyes to keep the tears from coming. Then she moved on without a glance back.

Lord God. Watch over my darling girl.





From the river road, they traveled on horseback up the gentle sloping hills down into the valley to Fredericktown, a village of German and English settlers nestled along the foothills of the Catoctin Mountains. On the edge of town, Hayward boarded the horses at a stable and hired a coach to take them the rest of the way. After he helped Eliza down from the saddle, she waited patiently outside, running her gloved hand down her mare’s velvety nose.

When she saw the coach and driver draw up, pulled by four dappled-gray horses, an indiscreet smile edged across her well-formed lips. Hayward had gone to such extravagance to hire a private coach, as opposed to a stage wagon that would be crowded with people.

“We will have plenty of room to stretch our legs,” he said, noting her smile. “Who wants to travel in a packed coach with strangers?”

“It must have cost you much.” She admired the brightly painted green doors.

“Not really. I have the money. Besides it gives us time to ourselves.” He took her bag and led her past the horses. “You will be away for some time, and this will do us good, don’t you think?”

She agreed with a nod, the hood of her cloak slipping back to reveal her dark hair. He sat opposite her, his back to the driver, took off his hat, and set it beside him on the seat. For several miles, they looked out at forest and field, only quiet comments passing between them.

Dust rose behind the wheels and sank over thistle and milkweed, as well as the hedgerows that lined the road. Feeling the air grow warmer, Eliza removed her cloak and smoothed out the folds of her dress. She adjusted the lace on her sleeves and combed her fingers through her hair. Her hands trembled as she did so, even when she repeated the gestures several times.

Not long after their departure, Hayward put his boots up on the seat, folded his arms over his chest, and fell asleep. He acts so indifferent to me leaving. I still have not won back his heart. I only pray he longs for me as much as I longed for him when he was away.

She wondered would he be lonely without her? Would the days drag on in a slow cadence and would the house seem empty with her gone? She found her reticule tucked into the fold of her gown, pulled on its strings to open it, and took out a lock of Darcy’s hair. She would show this to her mother-inlaw, let her see the fine color of her granddaughter’s locks. She will no doubt regret she did not ask for Darcy as well.

Already Eliza missed her child, and the thought of being so far from her, and the many days she’d have to live without her, caused her heart to ache.

After an hour of bumpy roads, she moved across to her husband and laid her head against his shoulder. He did not stir, remaining as he was, arms crossed, head back. She glanced up to look at his closed eyelids and hoped he’d put his arm around her. Her affection was not enough to bring him closer. Still, she pressed into him and listened to his heartbeat.

When they reached Annapolis, and the banks of the Chesapeake Bay, the sun was setting. The coach slowed and pulled up to the docks—the same ones they had come to years before. Worn from the relentless roll and pitch of the coach, Eliza gazed out the window. Seagulls banked in the wind, hovered above the bay, dove and squawked among pelicans and sandpipers. Fishing boats heaved gently in the tide. Tall ships lay in the harbor, their bells clanging while lanterns brightened.

“Come, Eliza,” Hayward said. “We’ve arrived, and in good time, I’d say.”

He opened the coach door and stepped out. Then he extended his hand to her. She took it, and he helped her down. The wind of the bay blew cool, and she drew her cloak over her shoulders.

“You there.” Hayward called to a seaman. “Are you a crew member on The Beacon?”

The sailor dragged off his cap. “Aye, I am, sir. Who wants to know?”

“Mr. Hayward Morgan of River Run. This is my wife, Eliza Morgan. She is to be one of the passengers aboard your ship.”

The cap between his hands, the sailor bowed short. “Our skiff waits for you and the others. Captain says he wants to set sail before sundown.”

Eliza glanced at Hayward. “So soon? I thought it would be days before we would . . . I would leave.”

Hayward said nothing in response, showing no disappointment or surprise. It seemed he knew in advance that this was how it would be. She clutched her cloak at her throat. She gasped when he looked at her.

“Do not worry, Eliza. These men will take care of you. And the captain is a good man, I hear. Time will go by fast. You’ll see. As soon as my mother is well, come home to me. I’ll be waiting.”

He leaned down, kissed her forehead, and their eyes met. Desperate to read his feelings, his thoughts, she looked deeply into his eyes. He turned away and instructed the seaman to carry Eliza’s bag. “Take care that you help her into the skiff. Tell Captain Payne I am counting on him to get my wife safely to England.”

At the sight of this young sailor taking her belongings in hand and heading down the wharf to the boat, fear washed over her. It gripped her with such force that she grew faint. A tremor passed through her body. “Hayward. Can we not stay in town a few days together? This is too soon.”

“You heard the sailor. The ship is to sail.”

“But there are other ships.”

“I’m afraid not. It would be weeks to wait for another.”

She stared into his eyes and knew he was lying. “Come with me. Perhaps if you did, your mother would recover much faster, and then we could come home sooner than if it were just I. Perhaps with you there, she would be willing to return to River Run with us, instead of living alone so far from you and Will.”

“We have been over this before, Eliza.”

“I know, but I am afraid.”

“Do not embarrass yourself or me. If I can settle my affairs . . .”

“What affairs?”

He sighed. “Things that concern River Run. The harvest, the mill—plans for the future . . .”

“Can you not hire someone to do that?”

“No. I cannot. Now, if I can settle things in less time, and I will endeavor to do so, then I will not send word to you to return home. I will come and fetch you myself.”

There was some hope. “You promise you will?”

“You mustn’t doubt anything I say.” He kissed her cheek and walked with her to the waiting vessel. Three others were ahead of Eliza, and each in turn stepped down. An oarsman took her by the waist, swung her down into the boat, and instructed her to sit. Once seated, she pulled her cloak over her knees. Hayward stood on the wharf, hat in hand, watching her.

As the oarsmen pulled on the oars and the skiff slid away, Eliza sat silent and still, her eyes brimming and fixed on Hayward. A moment, and he moved away, back to the coach. She saw him climb in and latch the door. She wanted to dive into the waves, swim back to him, stop him. But his words echoed over and over: If you want to save our marriage, you will do as I say.

With a snap of the reins, the horses pranced forward and the coach rolled away. The reality that he had gone, and that she would not see him again for a long time, grew overwhelming as she sat in a boat with people she did not know, going to a ship that would take her across the sea to England.

As the boat drew up to The Beacon, she watched the Maryland shoreline turn misty blue and indistinct. The massive hull of the ship cast a deep shadow over her, cold and foreboding. Once aboard, and shown to the cramped quarters that would be hers for the duration of the voyage, she stared at the small cot with the ticking pillow, the wool blanket, the chamber pot, and the washing pitcher.

Mortified, she shut the door and collapsed to her knees. There, upon the planks, she poured out her heart and soul to her God, like the violent sweep of waves that buffeted the blackened timbers and crashed back into the sea.