Before the Scarlet Dawn

7





The first scarlet glimmer of dawn crept over the treetops as Eliza opened her eyes. She had dreamt she was back at the vicarage, her father quietly preparing a sermon by the fire in his study. He looked at her over his steel spectacles and smiled, closed his books, and then walked from the room. She followed him, saying, “I am to be Hayward Morgan’s wife, Papa.” He turned with the Holy Scriptures tucked beneath his arm and smiled. Then the dream ended. She took comfort in it, that he would approve of her choice of husband.

Now that she was awake to the real world, her emotions surged within her—joy one moment, trepidation prickling over her skin the next. They had gone some distance, changing coaches, and making headway over the road northward. She stretched her limbs as best she could inside the cramped carriage. Sound asleep, Fiona’s head nodded against her chest in time with the horses’ quick steps and the roll of the wheels over roads both smooth and rough. She snored loudly, and Eliza stifled a laugh.

Hayward! She peered out the window. He rode upon his horse toward the rear, and lifted his hand. She waved back and smiled lightly, her heart trembling in her breast. He must be weary, having been in the saddle all through those dark hours with only the moon and coach lamps to guide his mount over the lonely road north.

The sun brightened. The moon descended, and the day drew on. They crossed the River Sark on the toll road near to sunset. Candles burned in the windows, and a narrow walkway made of pebbles went from the road to Joseph Paisley’s marriage shop.

“I have no wedding clothes,” said Eliza, when Hayward dismounted and approached the coach door. “Does it disappoint you?”

“Not at all. You are beautiful as you are.”

The blush in Eliza’s cheeks deepened, and she gazed into his intent eyes. “Indeed, wedding clothes would have been a frivolous waste of money,” she said, hoping to please him. The gown she wore had been new by a few months, pretty, made of soft brown linen over a white chemise. And when she saw how he cast his eyes over her bodice as it peeked through her cloak, she knew he accepted her as she came to him.

She woke Fiona, and they stepped out into the pale morning light. Eliza held the hand Hayward offered. Her eyes followed the straight line of the path that led to an oaken door. “We shall not wed in a church?”

He leaned closer. “ ‘Where there are two or three gathered in my name, there I am in the midst of you.’ Remember?”

She nodded. With anticipation stirring within her, she watched him push open the door and step inside.

“I am doing the right thing, Fiona. Hayward and I belong together, and I will follow him wherever he may go.”

Fiona looped her arm through Eliza’s. “Mr. Morgan is a fortunate man to gain a wife who loves him as you do.”

“I am the one who is fortunate to have such a man. He is as strong as he is brave.”

“Do not discount your own bravery, my girl. Your willingness to leave England and live with him in an unknown land is more than most would ever agree to.”

“Yes, and you are just as courageous to come with me. Ah, but my heart trembles for him.”

“Why?”

“He has yet to feel the pangs of true love, nor the passion and devotion that comes with it.”

She watched him turn and hold his hand out to her. She lifted her skirts and hurried forward. The priest, as Joseph Paisley was called, greeted them warmly in a heavy Scottish accent. His wispy hair was brushed over his ears. A fleshy, large man, his collar hugged his ample neck. His eyes were large and misty, his cheeks ruddy.

He stood with his legs wide apart, his Anglican prayer book tucked beneath his beefy arm, his gaze upon Eliza as she walked inside. A petite woman came through a side door, dressed in a homespun gown of a shade matching her light russet hair, and stepped up beside the anvil that stood between Mr. Paisley and them.

“Who comes to murry?” said Paisley.

Hayward moved forward with Eliza. “Hayward Morgan of Havendale and Miss Eliza Bloome—Derbyshire.”

“Did ye come of yer own free will, Miss Bloome?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

“And who is witness to this union?”

Fiona stepped from behind the couple. “I am, sir.”

Eliza placed her hand in Hayward’s, and he closed his fingers over hers. They were warm and strong, and unwilling to let go. The vows were read and repeated, and Paisley struck his anvil. “God be wi’ ye! Yer murried!”

Hayward turned Eliza to face him. With shining eyes, he looked down into hers, and placed his hands on each side of her face.

“Kiss h’r, man.” Paisley gave him a little nudge on his shoulder. “What are ye waitin’ fer?”

And so Hayward bent his head and tenderly kissed Eliza. No man had touched her lips before. He was the first, and she vowed he would be the last. For all her goodness and faith, could she ever conceive of breaking her vows? Never. Could she fall if he neglected her, hurt her, or failed to reach the heights of love? Never, she repeated in her mind.

As he lifted his mouth away from hers, she gazed up at him breathless, through a mist of tears. With the way he kissed, how could he not love her? His kiss spoke of love. It spoke of devotion.

“You are unhappy, Eliza? Why the tears?”

She shook her head. “Because I am happy.”

Fiona stepped forward and looped her arm within Eliza’s. She looked at Hayward with the protective stare of a mother. “And see to it, sir, that she remains that way.”

Hayward paid Paisley his fee, and he sat down and recorded the marriage. Outside came the pounding of hooves, and he hurried to finish. The door swung open with a crash. With a gait most urgent, a gentleman dressed in a dark brown overcoat and riding boots stormed forward. He stopped short and heaved his chest to catch his breath, then dragged off his hat.

“Stop this at once. Proceed no further!” His stern eyes locked onto Hayward, then flashed over Eliza with a quiver of his mouth that showed disgust. “Tell me it isn’t so, that you have gone and married this girl.”

Hayward drew Eliza close to his side. “I have, Father. I said I would if she’d have me.”

“How can you be so foolish? What are you thinking?”

“On my life, sir, wish us well. It is done. We are man and wife.”

“Are you mad? You have deliberately defied me, and you have affronted your cousin, knowing full well he had an attachment to this girl.”

Hayward sneered. “I apologize, Langbourne,” and he gave him a rude bow.

“Mind your manners, boy,” his father warned. Eliza cringed from the way he spoke to Hayward. Why did Edward Morgan despise her?

Hayward stiffened. “I have made my choice. So has Eliza. Do not hate us for it.”

Purple with anger and almost choking with frustration, Morgan shook his fist. “How could you be so callous, so rebellious? You have broken Lilith’s heart by running off with this girl when it was understood you and she would wed.”

A laugh slipped from Hayward on the last word. “Is that what she told you? If she did, she is a liar. I offered her marriage, but she did not like the conditions and refused me. I realized she is too spoiled to live the kind of life I would require. Eliza is far superior to Miss Marsden. What did you hope to gain by following us here, Father?”

“I hoped to bring you to your senses, but I see I am too late.”

Eliza followed Hayward’s stare, as he looked past his father to the dejected man standing in the doorway. She felt sorry for Langbourne, but what could she do? Hat in hand, Langbourne said nothing. Only his eyes showed emotion, and they were inflamed with unrelenting anger.

“You there,” Edward Morgan addressed Paisley. “Undo this.”

“What is done in the Lord’s name is binding. Leave them in peace.”

“My son has rebelled against my wishes. Surely that should account for something in the Lord’s eyes.”

“I believe your son is of an age where God honors his vow, even if you do not.”

Morgan shifted his stare to his son. “You have no right, Hayward, to do as you please, no matter what this man says, or vows you have spoken.”

Hayward approached him. “Eliza is my wife and now your daughter-in-law. She desires what I desire. A new life on my own land, built by my own hands through my own means. Wish us well, for I do not know when, or if, I shall ever see you again.”

His father shook with unrestrained emotion. “I shall never speak your name again. I shall carry out my threat and cut you off from gaining anything from my estate. You are no longer my son.”

Hayward made no reply, but Eliza could see how hurtful Morgan’s words were. When Morgan jerked away from his son and stormed out, Hayward turned away. Langbourne stood silent near the door. For a brief moment he and Eliza looked at one another—his stare fierce under the sting of her rejection.

“You knew my mind,” she said to him. “But for hurting you as I have, I am sorry. Let us remain friends, you and I and Hayward, and please know that you will always be welcomed in our home if you should ever journey to Maryland.”

Langbourne’s eyes narrowed. He clenched his teeth and gave her a look so cold it caused her to shiver. “I have lost you, but have inherited a fortune.”

After Langbourne left, she went to her husband. Was it too late to mend such a breach? Could Hayward leave with this weighing on him—weighing on her? She ran her hand down the sleeve of his coat. “Go speak to your father. Do not let him leave on these terms. The fact that he traveled so far to find us shows he cares.”

“He has made his choice.”

“Yes, but you can change his mind, if you hurry . . . and . . .”

“You would have me lower myself? You would have me cower and beg in order to gain his forgiveness?”

It was too late. Outside the riders galloped off.

Hayward nodded farewell to the stunned couple standing behind the wedding anvil, then picked up his hat and placed it firmly on his head. The power of his father’s rejection shone in his eyes. His jaw clenched, and his hands flexed. Placing his hand on Eliza’s back, he moved her to the door and down the path. Eliza gazed at the sky. There were no clouds to hinder a darkening sky, where a gibbous moon hung alongside Venus.

“You love me, do you not, Eliza?” Hayward looked keenly into her eyes; his were the deepest and most soul-searching she had ever seen.

“Yes, I love you, Hayward. I have since I was a little girl. And I will until the day I die.”

“That is all that matters to me.” He took her hand and led her to the carriage. “Let us leave this place. We have a long journey ahead of us.”