Before the Scarlet Dawn (19 page)

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

W
eeks 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.