Before the Scarlet Dawn (18 page)

“My love, it is I, Eliza.”

“Eliza—so thirsty.”

Distressed, she grabbed the glass on the bedside table and put it to his lips. There was barely enough for a swallow, and he took it down. “More is coming, my love. Rest easy.”

She drew back the bedclothes, stood and went to the window, where she flung the curtains back as far as she could. The breeze blew over her husband’s flushed skin. Her hands hovered over him, searching for what to do, how to help him. It wasn’t long before Fiona returned with water and poured it into the blue and white pitcher.

“Mr. Halston would not tell me why he and Addison were going down to the riverbank.” She plunged a cloth into the washbowl and soaked it. “Only that my eyes should not see what was there.” She wrung out the rag and handed it to Eliza. “What is it you saw?”

Eliza proceeded to wash Hayward’s face. To tell Fiona the truth would cause her great worry. To hide it from her would be unfair. Deciding Fiona should be forewarned, Eliza bid her sit. “A man is in the river—killed by an Indian arrow. He could have come a long way downstream, so you mustn’t allow your worries to rise.”

Fiona’s eyes grew large. “Lord, have mercy upon us. Perhaps Mr. Halston should stay a day or two to safeguard us.”

“No, Hayward would not like it.”

“Well, at least Addison is a good shot. And with Mr. Hayward so ill, we need the help.”

“Addison knows what to do, Fiona. And remember, Mr. Hayward said there were no Indians that we need to fear this close downriver.”

“I shall be more than obliged to help in any way you might need me, Mrs. Morgan.” Halston stood just inside the door, his hat dangling from between his fingers. “Is Mr. Morgan very bad?”

Eliza pushed her hair back from her forehead. “I am distressed for him, sir. His fever is strong.”

Halston showed no outward sign of compassion, and Eliza wondered why he had bothered to inquire in the first place. The rivalry and dislike between the two men proved evident in Halston’s demeanor. And if Hayward knew that Halston stood in his doorway looking down on him with marked disdain, he would have him thrown out. But Eliza could not bring herself to ask him to leave—not after he had come to her aid.

Halston stepped back into the shadowy hall at the mention of fever. “Shall I send your man for the doctor . . . or, better yet, the minister? Fevers of this kind are known to take a person quickly.”

His words caused Eliza to shiver. She stood and faced him. “I’ll not allow it.”

He leaned his hand against the doorjamb. “It is up to God, ma’am. Not you. You should prepare yourself for the worst.”

Tears filled Eliza’s eyes. “God will not allow it. He knows I love my husband and would not take him from me. Hayward is strong in body, and has a will to live.”

Halston raised his brows, and his mouth curved into a quick grin. “Your trust in the Almighty is astounding, ma’am. I’ve seen too many people taken by fevers, so that I have little faith in miracles.” He turned to leave. “By the way, there is no way of knowing who the man in the river was. He may have been a lone backwoodsman, so no one will ever know. Addison is burying the body and will mark the spot.”

Eliza shut her eyes a moment, sorrowful for the unknown man. “It is not Christian to put him underground with no prayers spoken.” Hayward moaned, and she drew back to him. His face was scarlet and beaded with sweat.

Eliza’s brow creased with worry. “Mr. Halston, if you would send for a minister, please . . .”

“I’ll have my servant ride over to the nearest parish church. I believe that is Mr. Hopewell. He is a Methodist, if that is suitable with you?”

“Of course.” She bathed Hayward’s face once more, stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. “It would give me ease if he would pray over the poor man’s grave.”

“Certainly. And no doubt it would ease your mind if he were to pray for your husband as well.”

She nodded and looked over at him with misty eyes. “It would.”

Halston left, and Eliza listened to his footsteps going down the stairs. The front door opened and closed. An impulse to go to the window and watch him ride away seized her, but she resisted. She loved Hayward and swore to be his alone, but realized suddenly her heart was vulnerable and needed to be guarded. Looking into her husband’s face, she drove Halston from her mind.

She pressed her cheek against Hayward’s hand and whispered a prayer. “Let him live, Lord. Please.”

By three that afternoon, the heat rose even higher. No breeze blew and the land stood still in the hazy heat. Eliza stayed at her husband’s bedside, cooling his brow with water, but left him in Fiona’s care when she heard the minister dismount and leave his horse at the hitching post.

Eli Hopewell and Eliza followed Addison out to the field where the backwoodsman had been laid to rest. Dressed in black and wearing the traditional white collar, Hopewell held his Bible close to his heart. His dark brown hair hung at shoulder length, touched at the temples with a bit of silver. His green eyes were sincere, and he had a kind, expressive face that was cleanly shaved.

“Mr. Halston gave me the details regarding this poor soul, Mrs. Morgan,” Reverend Hopewell said. “It is good of you to provide a final resting place for him on your husband’s land. Most would not.” He stood over the mound of red clay and opened his prayer book.

Eliza gathered her hands together. “I only wish we knew who he was, sir.” The heat grew oppressive, and she wished to feel a cool breeze blow. Standing in the shade, she looked up and noticed that the leaves on the trees had curled. Cicadas whirled, and bluebottle flies darted through the air.

Hopewell shook his head. “God knows who this man was, and that is what is important in the end. Your husband is ill, I hear. When I have finished here, I will see him. I’ve also learned that this day the only doctor in these parts has left for Annapolis for good. Life in the frontier is too difficult for some people.”

No doctor. This troubled Eliza. What would people do?

“There is no one else to care for the sick?”

“Most folks in these parts will make do on their own. They are of hardy stock.”

After prayers were said, they walked back toward the house. There was not much he could do but pray over Eliza’s husband and give her a comforting word. The grave look in his eyes when he saw Hayward, and his sudden pause in the doorway as he was leaving, disturbed her. Were her hopes too high for his recovery?

Hayward’s dark eyes seemed to look past her, through her, and she knew his stupor had deepened. His breathing grew shallow as the hours passed by, causing her to fear he would slip away. She laid her head on his chest, and with her heart aching she listened to the beat of his. Her arms lay over his body in a gentle embrace. He shivered, and his muscles tightened. The heat grew excessive, and she stripped him of his clothes and washed his body to cool him.

In the predawn hours, his fever broke and he opened his eyes.

“I am hungry.” His voice was weak and broken.

“I imagine so, my love. Fiona is preparing breakfast and will be upstairs with it soon. I hope you like apples and milk.”

“Is that all?”

“For now.”

“I would prefer a mess of eggs and bacon.”

“Tomorrow,” she said.

He winced in pain. “How long do I have to stay in this bed?”

“Weeks. So that your leg may heal properly.”

“It will heal
properly
as long as I don’t waste away here.”

“I shall see to it you will not. But you must not be stubborn.”

“If you would bring me work to do and books to read, that will keep my mind occupied.”

A flutter crossed her belly, and she smiled. Happy, she set her hand over her stomach, shut her eyes, and prayed for the life growing inside her. “I’ve something important to tell you, Hayward. If you would lie still a moment and let me speak.”

He looked at her, curious. “Yes, of course, Eliza. What is it?”

“Do you remember the day I told you there was so much for us to live for?”

“You have told me many things. But I do remember that.”

“It was the day we received the invitation to Twin Oaks. I could have told you then, but something begged me to wait. Now that I am sure, I have to tell you . . . I am carrying a child.”

She studied his face to see his reaction. It was as she hoped. Warm pleasure swam in his eyes. “A child? When?”

“Late February. Please tell me you are happy and that you love me.”

He closed his hand over hers and held it. “Of course I’m happy. And you thought to ask to follow me off to war? Such foolish notions come into your pretty head, Eliza.”

“Say you’ll not leave until the child is born.” He let go of her hand. “Please, Hayward. Surely, the army can do without you until then. Wouldn’t you like to hold your baby in your arms when he takes his first breath?”

“I cannot promise anything. If I’m ordered away, then I must go.”

She sighed. “I understand.” She lowered her eyes and looked at her folded hands. How would she convince him to stay? Eliza hoped the love that had grown within him for her would prevail over a call to war. That nothing could be so strong as to pull him away from her or their child. Again, the babe pressed a tiny foot against her side. It caused her gladness to increase, and nothing else mattered in the world.

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

H
ayward’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.