Before the Scarlet Dawn: Daughters of the Potomac, Book 1 Page 13

  Sitting beside him on the bed, she leaned down and caressed his cheek. His eyes glowed as he looked into her face, and she touched her lips to his mouth. When she drew away, he wiped away the tear that escaped her eye.

  “No, Eliza. I will not leave you. It would be wrong of me.” He then drew her back to him and kissed her.

  18

  February, 1776

  Hayward’s recovery took time, but his temper quickened. Kept from joining his regiment in Annapolis, unable to ride, forbidden to walk without aid, the inactivity had hardened him. As Eliza’s baby grew, her figure changed, and it broke her heart to see how he resented it. She saw in his eyes a cool gaze that said he longed for the once soft curves of her waist and hips, the slightness of her weight, and he told her on more than one occasion he hoped she’d return to her former beauty soon after his child was born.

  More and more he withdrew affection from her, offering no embraces or even a warm kiss upon the cheek. She’d lie in bed long into the night and weep in silence. She missed the touch of his lips against hers, how he’d fill her with desire and make her feel wanted—loved. She said nothing to him about it. She needed to be patient.

  His leg healed with time, but it left him with a slight limp. Determined not to allow his injury to affect his part in the fight for independence, he kept up with the correspondences that were a regular occurrence but kept the contents a secret. Once he had read them, they were tossed into the fire, and Eliza wondered as she watched them burn what they were about. He would never share them with her.

  After the harvest, farmers came to the mill, and Addison would take Hayward down to the creek to see them. Eliza would follow, and as soon as she came within earshot, the conversations among the men would stop. Although she disliked the secrecy and exclusion, she welcomed the sacks of flour they gave her, and sat beside Hayward, watching the mill wheel turn and the water splash over the rungs.

  Mr. Halston had passed River Run with his blacksmith and apprentice on three occasions. He owned a substantial apple orchard and sent up to the house a barrel of the ripened fruit, a cask of cider, and several pounds of dried venison. Always his messages were directed to her, never Hayward.

  Dear Madam,

  Seeing we are neighbors, I am sending a por tion of the fruit of my labor. I haveheard of the impending arrival of your child and hope these gifts will sustain you in good health through the winter.

  Your humble servant,

  Jeremy Halston

  At Christmas another gift arrived, a bolt of flax linen. Eliza ran her hands over the smooth fabric, elated by such a kind present, for linen of this quality was precious.

  Dear Madam,

  For your child—in hopes of a fine baptismal

  gown.

  Your devoted servant,

  Jeremy Halston

  She had never shown Hayward the notes or mentioned the gifts. He was too preoccupied with going to war to be bothered by a barrel of apples and a bolt of fabric. In some ways, Eliza felt guilty for accepting Halston’s presents. But as the notes became more frequent, she found herself anticipating them, and her heart beat more rapidly as her eyes traced his words, thinking it was only friendship she felt—nothing more than that.

  A clouded sky thickened that night. A lengthy letter was placed in her hand, and at the end of the missive, Halston said he loved her. Deeply troubled by this, she stared at the ceiling and watched the shadows quiver over her head.

  I must tell him not to send me any more letters. It could come to this, that he loves me—oh, but I think he does, Lord, and it is wrong. And wrong that I should feel anything for him. I must stop this at once. I mustn’t accept anything from him, or see him, especially if Hayward joins the army and leaves me here alone. You must help me, Lord. Strengthen me to resist what my heart is feeling.

  She drew herself up. Hayward was asleep in the chair by the fire. Bits of wood were bright red in the hearth, the ashes white. Snow stuck to the windows and heavy gales rushed across River Run. At the stroke of midnight, she felt the first pang of labor.

  Shifting her legs over the side of the bed, she stood and made her way toward him. “Hayward . . . you must wake.”

  He sat forward and ran his hand over his face. “What is it?”

  “I think you may need to wake Fiona.”

  He stood. “The child?”

  “Yes.” She gathered the bedclothes in her fists and clenched her teeth.

  The fire crackled. The wind pushed against the house and deepened the chill of the room. A woolen wrap lay at the foot of the bed, and Eliza drew it over her shoulders. She shivered, and the babe turned within her.

  “No, you mustn’t.” Hayward lifted her in his arms, carried her to the bed, and laid her in it. Afraid of what she faced, she noted the first tender gesture he’d given her in months.

  “You love me, don’t you, Hayward?” Please tell me.

  “How can I not?” He drew her feet beneath the blanket. “I’ll be back in a moment with Fiona. Lie quiet.”

  She set her hand over his arm. “I wish you would say the words. Especially now.”

  “It is hard for me. Besides, a man shouldn’t have to say it. A wife should know.”

  “It is no effort for men to declare their love before marriage. Why should they stop afterwards?”

  “Deeds are greater than words.”

  “But you’ve been so distant and angry since your accident . . .”

  “Only because it prevented me from joining the Continentals.”

  She lowered her eyes and bit her lip. “You are well now, so I suppose you will leave me soon.”

  “Yes, but my heart is yours alone.”

  I do not believe you.

  He touched her cheek. “Is that not enough?”

  Not without you telling me you love me.

  “Now I must wake Fiona. Stay in bed.”

  Hurt, she looked away from him to hide her feelings. Tears stung her eyes, and she forced them back with a vengeance. “You must stay out of the room until your son is born.”

  He paused by the door, nodded, and went out with a candle in his hand. She had done everything she could to please him, and still his feelings for her were not the swift, constant current she desired. Had she made a mistake in marrying him, in thinking he would love her as she loved him? She had to accept his ways. That was all. He showed his love through deeds, not words. He’d given her his name, protection, a roof over her head, and food to eat. Did that not show he loved her? She had beautiful clothes, and everything she wanted. Now she was about to bear his child. It would only deepen his feelings for her, would it not? To press him again for poetic words of love might drive him away. And after the baby, her figure would return. Surely this would please him.

  Another pain gripped her, and she reached for the bedpost and pulled herself up.

  Hayward returned with Fiona, who hurried to Eliza with outstretched arms. Eliza turned to her, and with her dark hair falling over her shoulders, with fear that rose to the surface as her breath was snatched from her lungs, she watched him turn aside, place his hand over the brass knob, and quietly pull the door closed.

  Alone in his study, Hayward stared at the flames that licked the bricks in his hearth. Troubled, he dragged his hunting knife over a piece of kindling, caring not for the shavings that fell onto the floor. His leg ached, and he paused to rub the muscle. Then he threw the chafed wood into the fire.

  Nothing could drown out Eliza’s cries upstairs. Not his thoughts, not the crackle of the fire, not the rattling branches outside his window. He squeezed the arms of the high-backed chair and tried to resist the impulse to go to her. Another anguished cry caused his muscles to tighten. He could stand it no more and rushed upstairs.

  As he stood in front of their bedroom door, his hand hesitated over the brass knob. He dared not go in. She had told him not to, and so he withdrew his hand and leaned his back against the wall, waited, and found himself praying for Eliza’s and his baby.
The door drifted open and out stepped Fiona. She took him by the arm and pulled him inside.

  I cannot get the child to cry,” she whispered. “Please, sir. You must try. Rub the baby’s back vigorously.”

  Eliza lay quiet against the pillows, the sheets wrapped around her legs. Her damp hair clung to her throat, and her eyes were closed. “Is she all right?”

  Fiona nodded. “She had a time of it, but she will be fine.” She handed him the newborn, wet and coated, and as pale as the fear that stole into his breast. No sooner had he taken the infant into his arms that it began to whimper and turn pink. It thrust out two fists and wailed.

  “Ah, she is perfect now,” cooed Fiona.

  “A daughter?”

  “Yes, sir. And pretty as her mother the day she was born.”

  Hayward felt slightly disappointed, but the glassy dark eyes that stared at him, the delicate bow mouth, and the tiny fingers conquered his heart. “Thank you, Fiona. I suppose you feel like a grandmother, having raised Eliza as you did.”

  Fiona wiggled her head and smiled down at the babe. “If only it could be so, sir. But I know my place. I shall serve this little girl and love her just as I have loved her mother until the day I die.”

  Eliza opened her eyes and stretched her arms out to Hayward. “Are you angry that I did not give you a son?”

  “No. We do not determine our children, Eliza. That is God’s doing.”

  “She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “Beautiful and healthy.”

  “I’d like to call her Darcy, after my grandmother. I did not know her, but my father said she was a good woman, happy in life and love, and that is what I want for our little girl.”

  And so, Darcy Morgan came into the world on a cold winter’s night to a hopeful mother, and to a father whose duty to The Glorious Cause outweighed his duty to her.

  19

  Weeks passed quietly at River Run. Bitter cold settled over the valley, though blue skies let rays of sunshine through the windows of the house. Stepping down the staircase, Eliza saw that the door to Hayward’s study stood open. She paused a moment and listened to him speak to Addison. His tone seemed serious and his words rehearsed.

  “Nothing to worry about, sir. The cold cellar has enough venison to last through spring,” she heard Addison say. “And I’ve cut enough firewood to last the season through.”

  “I doubt we shall see any harsh weather this winter,” Hayward said. “You’ll need to have Mrs. Morgan’s mare shod. She will give you the coin.”

  “Old Ben does a fine job, sir. And Tom, he’s a hardworking lad. When Old Ben passes on, Mr. Halston will have no problem with Tom stepping into the old fellow’s shoes.”

  “Well, it is too bad Halston’s blacksmiths are the only ones nearby. Otherwise I would take my business elsewhere.”

  Her husband had said nothing out of the ordinary, except for his comment about Halston. She knew he did not like him, that whenever his name was mentioned a jealous glint shone in his eyes.

  Addison spoke after a pause. “If you don’t mind me saying, sir, when Mr. Halston weds, a wife will tone down his forwardness, and she’ll be a good neighbor for your lady, sir.”

  Hayward cleared his throat. “I should find my lady another servant. Someone young who could help her take care of the child. There are still plenty indentured in this country, so I should have no trouble.”

  “Again, I beg your pardon, sir. But a lady’s maid should be of the lady’s choosing. At least that’s how it’s done in this part of the world.”

  “Then I’ll leave it up to Mrs. Morgan. I wouldn’t want her out of step with the rest of her sex.”

  Compelled to go into the study and speak to Hayward about this, Eliza made haste down the staircase. Addison strode out into the foyer, stopped when he saw her, and drew off his hat. He had a sorry look on his face, his eyes glancing left to right. Without a word, he squashed his hat on, bowed quickly, and left.

  Eliza smoothed down the front of her gown, glad she was able to squeeze into it. The ribbons on her bodice were not pulled so tight as before, but that would change in time. She wore a day gown of dark green linsey, a kerchief of bleached linen fastened at her breast in a snug knot. Hayward had not approved of the fabric when first it arrived, saying it was for women of the lower class, but Eliza told him it was warm and practical for a lady living in the wilderness, far better than most had.

  She laid her hand lightly against the door, and it drifted open. She wondered why he had not worn his working clothes that morn, his leather breeches and hunting shirt. Instead, he wore his dark navy coat, beige breeches, and black riding boots. His hair lay back in a ponytail secured with a strip of black taffeta.

  “You look pretty this morning, Eliza. I will keep your image in my mind while I am gone.”

  Gone? She looked at him with a start and hurried to him.

  “Just for the day, I hope.”

  “No.” He placed his hands on her arms. “Eliza . . .”

  She blinked back tears, knowing what he meant to tell her. He was leaving. “You must have breakfast before you start the day’s business. Come, let us sit together.”

  “I had something before you woke.”

  “That had to be early.”

  “It was.”

  She lowered her eyes, dreading what she knew he’d say next. He dropped his hands and moved her to a chair. “Sit down, Eliza.” Slowly she lowered herself into the chair and fixed her eyes on him, as if she had to sear his face into her memory, for the chance he’d never return haunted her.

  Hayward took hold of her hands and held them gently. “It is time I join the Maryland Patriots. I know how that must make you feel, but it is my duty, and my heart and mind have convicted me day and night. America is my country now, our country, and I cannot sit idly by, doing nothing. You understand?”

  “But Darcy is barely a month old and . . .”

  “There is nothing to worry over, Eliza. It should not be long that I will be away, perhaps a few months, but no more than a year.”

  “A year?” she breathed out the words painfully and fought the tears pooling in her eyes. She laid her head against his breast, gathered the lapels of his coat in her hands, and held onto him. Beneath his waistcoat, she heard the beat of his heart and shut her eyes to take it in—to remember.

  Hayward ran his hand over her hair and sighed. “I cannot bear your tears. I’ll not torture you or me a moment longer.” He kissed her forehead, then both her hands, and strode from the room and out the front door. With a low, desperate moan, Elisa raised to her mouth the hands he had just released and hurried after him. Cold hit her face when she stepped out onto the porch. The wind freshened, rustled through the bare limbs of the trees, and stirred the dead leaves that lay twisted and crumpled on the grass.

  He is leaving me so soon, and with no warning!

  She stood between the posts and watched him mount his horse. Stunned, she stood motionless, unable to find words to speak, something to say that would make him stay. “Can you not kiss your baby daughter farewell?” she finally said.

  At once, he gathered the reins through his gloved hand and looked at her with pained eyes. “Kiss her for me, Eliza. Tell her every day her papa loves her. Goodbye. I shall write to you first chance when I reach Annapolis.”

  He turned Omega and galloped off. Her hands clasped at her breast, she whispered, “God go with you, Hayward.”

  Stronger blew the wind, colder and more relentless, louder and swelling in the forests, hushing the rush of the river beyond. Tears blurred her vision, and she allowed them to fall down her cheeks. Then the wind lay low, and she could make out the sound of Omega’s hooves passing over the dusty river road. The sound faded and silence sunk into her lonely heart, until she heard her baby girl crying upstairs.

  Part 2

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

  Lamentations 1:20a niv

  20

  Since Ha
yward’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.”