Before the Scarlet Dawn: Daughters of the Potomac, Book 1 Read online

“There is no need for us to stop for long,” she said. “For I am anxious for home.”

  “Are there any soldiers near River Run, sir?” Fiona asked.

  Hayward turned his head. “Fort Frederick is further upriver. You are still frightened, Fiona?”

  Fiona nodded. “Indeed, sir, for it seems we shall be cut off from the world.”

  “Do not look so glum. Eliza shall have neighbors, and a ball or two to attend during the season. The land is rife with landed gentlefolk. It shall not be as uncivilized as you imagine.”

  When they reached the wilderness, Eliza noticed that it seemed a burden lifted off Hayward’s shoulders. He appeared happier, less encumbered—less staunchly English and more American. As for the promise of society, she cared not whether she would have ladies to visit or to be visited by, or balls to attend. All she wanted was to make a home out of four walls and to be loved by Hayward.

  The chance to help fulfill his dream, of owning the most prosperous estate along the Potomac, pulsed through Eliza’s veins. But the question of building his legacy on the backs of poor slaves, whether Africans or white indentures, had not been broached. That day she had spotted a tawny child of no more than eight years of age holding a broad straw fan attached to a pole over the head of a gentlewoman to keep her cool and shaded.

  “Tell me you do not own slaves at River Run,” she said. “I shall be very distressed if you do, and I meant to ask before but had forgotten. I think it is a terrible institution and an affront to Almighty God. It should be done away with if America is to be a free nation.”

  Hayward looked at her over his shoulder. “For now, it is a way of life here, Eliza. I have no slaves.”

  She sighed and set her cheek against his back. “I am glad.” Passionate on the subject, she raised her head and straightened her back. “If we can, whenever we can, we should speak up, do something to help our brothers and sisters in bonds. I hear the white indentured servants suffer a great deal as well. I will never understand why people cannot follow the Lord’s commandment.”

  “And which commandment is that?” he asked.

  “To love one another. To treat others as we would want to be treated.”

  “I see I have wedded a virtuous woman.” He guided his horse around a bend.

  Once they reached the river path along the Potomac, Hayward dismounted and drew the horses down to a stretch of sandy shore where the pools were quiet and they could drink. He helped Eliza down, and she stepped to the bank, with Fiona easing behind her. Under the shade of cottonwoods, Eliza dipped her hands into the gentle ripples. The water tasted sweet and cold, and she splashed her face and neck with it.

  Hayward stood near with his pistol in his hand. She glanced over at him and saw how keenly he stood watch, how his eyes scanned the shoreline. She imagined he would pay her little mind if she tested the water, so she sat upon a rock, kicked off her shoes, and rolled her stockings down her calves and off her feet.

  Careful not to slip, she stepped over the collected stones, dirt, and sand, and went to the water’s edge. Holding her skirts above her knees, she waded out. The silky mud in the riverbed squished between her toes. The current whirled around her calves, and she basked in the cool caresses that rushed over her skin.

  “My girl!” Aghast, Fiona waved her back. “So unseemly to hike up one’s skirts like that. Not at all what a married woman should do. Draw back, and put your skirts down.”

  With a turn of her head, Eliza laughed. “There is none to see me save you and my husband, Fiona. You should not expect me to get my clothes all sopping wet. Come out with me, and wash the dust of the road from your feet and limbs.”

  With a quick arch of her brows, Fiona’s mouth flew open. “Not I.”

  “The water is heavenly in this heat. Your sore limbs will feel the better for it.”

  “You expect me to take off my stockings, hoist my skirts, and put my bare legs into the river in front of Mr. Morgan?”

  With another laugh, Eliza tossed her hair back. “He will not care. Now, come on. It will do you good.”

  Fiona hesitated and glanced from Eliza to Hayward. He turned away to give her ease that he would avert his eyes.

  “I shall not take off my stockings. Just my shoes.”

  “No, no.” Eliza wrinkled her brow. “You must take your stockings off. Otherwise you shall tear them on the stones.”

  Eliza made sense, and so Fiona hiked up her skirts and secured them. She took off her shoes, then her stockings, and made slow progress out into the river. “It does refresh the body,” she said with a smile. She cupped her hands, plunged them into the water, and then rubbed the cool water over her arms and face.

  Eliza splashed her, then went further out, and her husband called to her, “Eliza, come back. You go too far. You do not know the river. There are deep pools.”

  The hem of her dress skimmed along the surface as she waded back, her legs heavy against the current. “You are right, Hayward. I grow too bold.”

  Surprised by the cautious look in his eyes, she halted. They were locked onto a spot across the river, on the Virginia side where the trees met the river’s edge. He stepped forward and motioned to Eliza and Fiona with a quick bidding of his hand. “Hurry, both of you. But make no sound.”

  Silently, he stepped forward into the water to bring her in. The horses lifted their heads and pricked their ears. Eliza followed the direction of Hayward’s eyes. Half hidden from view by the ancient hemlocks and weeping willows was an eagle feather hanging from a crop of coal-black hair, the bare breast of an Indian, his deer hide apron, and the black wolf’s mask that covered his eyes.

  The Indian stood motionless beneath the shale cliffs that hugged the river. In his hand he clutched a bow, and across his chest stretched the strap of his deerskin quiver. Fear gripped her even though he stood a great distance away.

  Hayward led Eliza out of the water to the shore, then brought her back up the bank. Fiona followed after retrieving her stockings and shoes.

  “Stay here.” Hayward turned back, grabbed the horses’ reins, and brought the horses through the line of trees and back to the path. “He is too far to reach us, but there may be others following him by canoe. Why he is this far downriver, I do not know. But it is better we are gone.”

  He lifted Eliza back into the pillion and then helped Fiona. Through the trees, Eliza watched the Indian. He had not moved; only the breeze lifted his hair and caused his feather to wave. She had an impulse to raise her hand, as if it would win some kind of favor. But she hesitated.

  Suddenly the Indian raised his bow above his head and called across the river. Though the loud rapids drowned out his words, they made Eliza’s blood run as cold as the undercurrents.

  She pressed closer to Hayward. “Do you understand him?”

  Hayward dragged the reins through his hands. “He is sending us a warning.”

  Placing her hands around Hayward’s waist and locking her fingers, she felt the kick he gave to Omega’s sides. The horse moved on, down the path through the sunlight, where an encompassing forest soon covered them. Fiona rode alongside, her hands still atremble while gripping the reins.

  “Do not fear, Fiona,” Eliza said. “See how far the other side is? There are no others with him.”

  “I hope you are right, my girl.” Fiona’s eyes widened. “On my life, I have never seen anything like that. Oh, he struck fear into me just as if he had shot an arrow into my heart. I pray God there are none of his friends on this side of the river.”

  Eliza leaned her head against Hayward’s back. “Hayward shall take care of us. And God shall protect us.”

  Then she realized she had left something behind and looked down at her bare feet. “My stockings and shoes. I left them on the bank.”

  The following day’s ride had been uneventful. But near to sunset, Hayward pulled sharp on the reins and Eliza tightened her grip around his waist when a man in a ragged brown coat and stained tricorn hat strode down the path toward
them. A lump rose in Eliza’s throat when Hayward drew out his pistol and laid it across his thigh. The man, chancing upon them, stopped short. He dragged off his hat and moved to the side of the road. His hair brushed along his neck, tangled and dirty. His clothes hung loose over his lean body, and his eyes were as blue as the river rushing over the boulders below.

  “Lord, have mercy,” he cried. “You ’bout gave me a froze heart.” He pressed his hand over his chest and panted. “Glad you didn’t, cause I’d hate to be buried in these woods without being marked.”

  “And I would have hated to do the burying.” Hayward steadied Omega as the horse stepped back. “Where are you headed?”

  “Annapolis, sir. I’m going to join the Continental Army.”

  “We saw an Indian on the opposite side of the river. What news have you?”

  The man shrugged. “Most of the tribes have moved west toward the Ohio. But there be plenty of braves joinin’ the British. I guess good ole King George thinks that’ll strike enough fear into us to get us to bend to his will.”

  “As fearsome as the Indians are, I will not bend,” said Hayward. Eliza then knew her husband was heart and soul for America, that the chance of him joining the Patriots was high. She hadn’t given much thought of him going off to fight in a revolution when she first realized she loved him. But it would not have mattered. She would happily take one day with him to none at all.

  The man snarled and raised a fist. “Not I, either, sir. Besides, I got nothin’ keeping me in the wilderness. I had a nice farm, but Logan’s Indians raided us and burned my cabin to a pile of ash. I escaped with my wife and child, but they both died of ash. I escaped with my wife and child, but they both died of the fever at Fort Frederick.”

  Eliza looked down at him. “I am sorry for your loss.”

  He nodded and blinked. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  She reached for the saddlebag. “Are you hungry?”

  “Thank you, but I have plenty of dried venison in my pouch.” He placed his hat back on his head, and appeared to want to move on. He took a few steps, but glanced around the woodlands with his head lowered.

  A chill prickled over Eliza’s skin when she saw her husband squeeze his hand over the hilt of his pistol. He clicked his tongue and Omega stomped his left hoof, then paced forward. Eliza sucked in her breath when two other men, all in dirty moth-eaten clothes, stepped out of the woods. Through their grins their teeth were slimy brown. Their hands were dirty like their clothes, and their nails encrusted with grime. Each held a musket.

  “Friends of yours?” Hayward called back over his shoulder to the man. He cocked the hammer of his pistol.

  “Aye,” said the man.

  The shorter one let out a weasel-like laugh. “Oh, you do know how to tell a tale, John Mayne. You had him believing ye. Oh, Indians burned our cabin, and me wife and child died of the fever. You are a hoot. Should’ve been on the stage, John.”

  John Mayne bent over with laughter and slapped his thigh. Eliza stared down hard at the men gathering around them. “You lied to us? Why would you do such a thing? What is it you want?”

  Mayne scratched his bristly chin and narrowed his eyes. “There be two things in this world a man wants, ma’am—gold and women. Now, if your man has no gold, silver will do.” He dragged his tongue over his lips and ran his lustful eyes over her.

  Hayward leveled his pistol. “Touch my wife or this serving woman and I’ll shoot you dead. And when that is done, we will move on, not bothering to bury you in these woods. I’ll leave your dirty carcasses to the wolves.”

  The men joined shoulder to shoulder and blocked the road.

  Hayward aimed his pistol. “Move aside.”

  John Mayne folded his arms across his chest. “There be three of us and one of you, sir. I doubt the ladies know how to fire a pistol, let alone carry one.”

  “Touch a hair on my girl’s head and I’ll lay you flat,” shouted Fiona.

  Throwing his hands to his knees, Mayne laughed, along with his fellows. The grin on his face turned into a sneer, and he leaped forward. He swung his musket in an effort to knock Hayward’s pistol out of his hand, but missed it by a hair. Hayward squeezed the trigger. A snap of the hammer and the bellow of sulfur sent the bullet whizzing past Mayne’s head.

  Omega twisted and reared. Eliza held on tight, but unable to stay in the pillion, she slipped off and landed on the ground with a thud.

  “Get her!” shouted Mayne. His men hurried forward to grab her. Hayward vaulted from the saddle and slammed his fist into the jaw of the first man he reached. The fiend stumbled back. His eyes rolled in his head, and he fell into the bramble. The other retreated into the woods. Mayne drew a knife and brandished it, the razor edge glinting in the sunlight. Eliza scrambled back.

  Her fingers worked fast to lift the hem of her skirts and reach up under her petticoat. From a blue silk garter, she yanked out her ivory-hilted pistol and took aim. Mayne stood in his tracks, wide-eyed and stunned, while Hayward hauled Eliza to her feet.

  “Ah, it’s but a small ladies’ pistol.” Mayne shoved his knife back in its sheaf and took a step back with his hands spread out.

  “That it is. But enough to do you damage,” Eliza said, gritting her teeth. She glanced at Hayward and marked the amused look on his face.

  “Aye, she’s right.” Mayne picked up his tricorn hat and dusted it off against his thigh. He kicked his partner to get him to his feet. Then he swept his weatherworn hat in front of him with a bow. His greasy hair fell forward. “You do your husband proud, ma’am. Good day to you.”

  Off they scampered down the dusty road without a glance back.

  Sighing with relief, Eliza lifted her skirts just above the garter and slipped the small flintlock pistol back in place. She smiled over at her husband, and then smoothed the folds back down.

  Hayward shook his head and laughed. “Why is it you have a propensity to attract bandits and ruffians? This is the second time I have had to come to your rescue. But I think you might have done all right on your own with that pistol you keep hidden on your thigh.”

  A rush of scarlet flamed her cheeks. Perhaps her bravery and skill with a weapon would bring him one step closer to falling in love with her. She fixed her eyes warmly on his. “I saw the knife and had to help.”

  Hayward put his hands around her waist and helped her back into the pillion. The gleam in his eyes, the soft smile that curved a corner of his mouth, pleased Eliza. He thrust his boot into the stirrup and mounted his horse. “We shall see how you do with a musket once we are settled.”

  This thrilled her. “I promise, I shall be a better marksman than you, sir, and faster at loading.”

  “I doubt that . . . But you may try, Eliza.”

  “You may doubt all you wish. I shall only use that skill in self-defense if I need to. I am not inclined to show off.”

  Despite their brush with dangerous men, her words brought light laughter to the trio as they passed through the woodlands.

  The urge to cling to Hayward even tighter overwhelmed Eliza when the realization took hold that life was precarious in the wilderness, and that the unexpected loomed around every bend. Would he leave her to join the Continentals? How would she and Fiona do out at River Run all alone? The idea caused her to tremble inwardly. She laid her head on Hayward’s shoulder and longed to whisper in his ear, Do not leave me . . . do not go to war. Stay. Stay.

  She then remembered her father’s words on the day he told her he was not long for this world. You shan’t ever be alone, Eliza. God will never leave you or forsake you.

  10

  Blinding flashes of lightning raced across the sky. Rain fell as soft as the pine needles it broke free from the evergreens along the road. Within the shelter of trees stood an abandoned cabin used by travelers.

  “It is poor,” Hayward said to Eliza as he brought her down from Omega’s back. “But it is enough to shelter us from the storm.”

  The feel of her waist against
his palms proved enough to cause his blood to race. Her eyes captivated him, and he wished they were alone. He pushed open the door with his boot, went inside, and frowned at the dusty pine needles spread over a dirt floor, and at the leaky roof. At least the last visitor had left a stack of firewood beside the stone fireplace.

  He banked a fire while Fiona laid out biscuits and jerky on a kerchief. Eliza spread three blankets over the floor. After they had eaten, and were comforted by the fire, the women fell asleep. Hayward sat opposite his wife, close to the door, where rainwater seeped between the logs in rivulets. Setting his pistol beside him, he studied her face: the closed lids, the parted lips, the blush the fire brought to her cheeks. He barely knew her and yet felt she had been near him all his life.

  At that moment, he steeled his heart against falling in love. It would weaken him somehow—cause him to hesitate if called to fight. But it proved a bigger battle than he had imagined. The nights he held her in his arms, caressed her, loved her, and felt her kisses melt into his were like cracks in a dam. Ready to open wider and release the flood at any moment, they had to be held back. God only knew how long she would be his. He knew many settlers in these parts had lost wives to childbirth, Indians, smallpox, and fever. Best to keep his feelings in check to stay strong.

  He recalled the hard lesson his father had taught him at the age of twelve. On the day they sent him off to school, his father saw him wipe his cheek with the back of his coat sleeve when his mother embraced him. He grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him into the stable, where he whipped him.

  “That,” he said, “is enough to make you cry. Never cry over a woman, you hear? It will make you weak as water, and you shall become a slave. Woman is to be your slave, your servant. She is to lick your boots and always be a step behind you. She is to serve you. Never forget, you are the master.”

  The words echoed in his mind. But when he looked over at Eliza wrapped in the blanket asleep, he saw a brave spirit. The way she had stood up to those footpads amazed him. And through the entire journey not a word of complaint had passed between her lips. No doubt Lilith Marsden would have fainted from the heat, and at the first sight of a ruffian, and complained incessantly that her comforts were not attended to in a satisfactory manner. Even under this broken roof, Eliza had not whined. And in the face of danger, she seemed more fascinated than afraid.