Before the Scarlet Dawn (24 page)

A young woman with hair the color of an October pumpkin looked out between the leaves in the bramble, her eyes swimming with fear. She crept forward.

Halston lowered his weapon. “Come on out. No one will hurt you.”

A mass of bedraggled locks fell over the young woman’s shoulders and down her back, and her sunburned face was smudged with dirt and grime. Her clothes were stained and tattered and hung on a frame emaciated by hunger. Dark circles lay beneath her green eyes.

Weak from a trial Eliza could not possibly imagine anyone surviving, the unfortunate captive took a halting step forward. Her knees buckled as if a heavy weight were tied to her body. Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed. Halston caught her and laid her on the ground.

The girl’s dress hung in shreds along her legs, where Eliza saw bruises and cuts. Her feet were bare, blackened, and bloody from walking without shoes. A deep compassion filled Eliza, and she wondered how long this poor wretch had suffered.

She brushed back the girl’s hair from her eyes.

“She’s been sorely abused and half starved,” she said, glancing at Halston. “We must take her back with us.”

Halston handed Tom his weapon and lifted the girl into his arms. “We must hurry, in case there are more of those renegades hiding in these woods.”

Eliza’s tawny milking cow lowed. “Oh, my cow!” she cried and hurrying to her, took hold of her halter. Realizing how close she had come to tragedy, Eliza wept a moment, leaning her head against the cow’s velvety neck.

They made their way back through the forest and across a small meadow leading to the house. Fiona met them at the door, wringing her hands, her eyes misty. Standing beside her, Darcy smiled at Eliza and stretched her arms out to her.

“Mama!”

Tears could not be helped, and she lifted Darcy to hug her. “Oh, my little girl! God kept you safe, didn’t he?”

“From the cat, Mama.”

Eliza glanced at Fiona. “Indeed, from the cat, little one.”

“Oh, my dear girl,” Fiona wiped the tears from her eyes with the corner of her apron. “Please tell me you are unharmed. They did not hurt you, did they?” She ran her hands over Eliza’s face and looked at the cut on her neck.

“Not very.”

“Oh, they did hurt you.”

“Believe me, it is just a scratch. You hid with Darcy?”

“Yes, and when it was safe, I went to Mr. Halston. Thank the Lord they did not take Nell. I see you brought our cow back.”

A sob escaped Eliza, and she threw her arms around Fiona and embraced her. “You saved Darcy’s life, your own, and mine. How brave you are!”

When Halston stepped through the door with the girl in his arms, Fiona raised her brows. “And who may this poor child be, sir? My, she is in a sorry shape, to be sure.”

“The Indians had taken her captive,” answered Eliza. Fiona led Halston to the little room off the kitchen. “I’ll fetch water and ointment for those wounds. Dear me, I cannot imagine what she has been through. Her kin must think her dead.”

Eliza bit her lip. As I came close to being. She stood beside Fiona as she folded down the bedding. Halston set the girl down. Still she had not opened her eyes. “Once we discover who she is,” said Eliza, “we will help her reunite with her family. For now, let us allow her to rest.”

When the sun set, candles were kept from the windows so as not to alert any Indians who were near. Every door and window was bolted and locked. Eliza stepped out of a bedroom door still dressed in the olive muslin gown she had donned that morning. Over her arm lay a heap of tawny homespun and a white chemise. Halston sat in the chair near the window in the hall, cleaning the barrel of his musket.

“Will you stand guard all night, sir?”

“Tom and I will take turns.” He looked at her. “What is that you have?”

“Clothes for our guest. She told me her name is Sarah.”

Halston continued to clean his gun. “Ah, you are thinking of ‘when I was naked you clothed me. When I was hungry you fed me . . .’ ”

“How can I not?” She looked away when he held her eyes, and left to go downstairs. Sarah sat up against the pillows, a hunk of bread in her hand and a mug of Fiona’s mint tea in the other. The dirt and grime were gone from her face, and her hair was brushed. Darcy sat across from her in a ladder-back chair.

“It is late. Darcy should be abed.” Eliza laid the clothes down, picked Darcy up, and kissed her cheek. “Thank God tonight, my darling, for not allowing that cat to catch any mice.”

Darcy placed her little palms against Eliza’s cheeks with her eyes glowing. “I will, Mama. I heard angels’ wings, me and Fonna.”

Fiona took her from Eliza, and when Eliza was alone with Sarah, she drew the chair up to the bedside. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you for the food. I’ll work it off to repay you.” Sarah had a pleasant lilt to her voice that hinted of the Cornish coast.

“Never mind that. You are from Cornwall?”

“I was. Mine is a long story.”

“You are too weary to tell me more tonight. Perhaps later, when you are feeling up to it. Here are some clothes. I hope Fiona tossed your old ones in the fireplace.”

“She told me she did. I’ve never looked such a fright in all my life.” Sarah cast her eyes down, looking ashamed. “Thank you for these.” She caressed the cloth. “Aye, but this is fine homespun.”

“Fiona’s handiwork.”

“She’s a good woman. Is she indentured?”

Eliza shook her head. “No. She has been with me since I was baby. Fiona is more like a mother to me than a servant.

When you are ready, I have paper and ink so that you may write to your family and tell them you are safe.”

Sarah’s smile vanished and she lowered her eyes. “I have no family.”

“I am sorry.”

“Please do not send me away. I was indentured to a man who was cruel. I no longer belong to him, but he would claim me out of spite.”

“Do not worry.” Eliza stood and drew the curtains closed over the window. “If you like, you may stay with us. I could use another pair of hands, and you will never go hungry at River Run . . . that is, if such a life is not beneath your station.”

Sarah laughed softly. “My station? I am not a lady. Are you sure your husband would not mind me staying?”

“He is away fighting the British. I am certain he would not object.”

“I thought the gentleman who rescued you, and carried me, was your husband. He has kind eyes, God bless him.”

“He is our nearest neighbor . . . Try to sleep. Tomorrow you may tell me more about yourself.” Eliza blew out the candle on the bed table and shut the door behind her. She could tell by the weary look in Sarah’s eyes that her life had been hard and not one she was ready to explain. Eliza decided not to press her. But she hoped that in time Sarah would reveal who and what she was.

Darkness shrouded the house. Eliza held the candle a bit higher as she ascended the stairs. With each step, she mused over the events of the day, how courageous Fiona had been to climb out of hiding with Darcy, saddle Nell, and go for Mr. Halston. He had come to her aid without a minute to lose and saved her from captivity—or death. Grateful, she knew she owed him much. But she wished it had been Hayward instead who had saved her.

She gripped the banister. Her steps faltered from the pain that gripped her, the longing that always lingered. How much longer could she do without Hayward? How much pain would she have to endure not hearing from him? Would God answer her prayers soon by bringing him home?

When she reached the upper floor, she met Halston. He looked tired, his eyes weary in the candlelight. “I believe you are safe, Mrs. Morgan. I doubt any more Indians will come this far downriver.”

“I hope you are right. You should sleep, sir.” She turned to go.

“Eliza . . .” he stepped closer.

She looked away. “I am grateful for what you have done, for saving my life.”

“I would risk myself a thousand times for you.” He reached out and ran his hand along the curve of her jaw. She closed her eyes. His touch eased her. But when she realized what it meant, she stepped back.

“You mustn’t do that. I am wedded, and no man should . . .”

He dropped his hand. “Forgive me.”

Eliza headed to her room, but he stopped her the moment her hand settled over the brass knob. “We have become good friends, and it is hard for me to say goodbye. I am leaving soon to join the Continentals. You shall soon forget me.”

She shook her head. “Friends do not forget each other, Mr. Halston. I wish you Godspeed.”

“I have wondered if loving you is a sin,” he said.

Stunned, she stared at her hand, closed tight over the knob. His confession, a flaming arrow, caused her to draw in a ragged breath, for his were words that should not be spoken, feelings that should never be felt, and as to whether or not it were a sin—that should never be questioned.

As he leaned against the wall, moonlight outlined his form. “I think we both know we feel something for each other, and anything more than that, acting upon what we feel, would be wrong in God’s eyes.”

“I know nothing of how you feel. I do not want to know. I love Hayward, him and him alone. My feelings for you are nothing more than gratitude and friendship. They will never be any more than that.”

Halston stared at her. A frown twitched over his mouth. “God forgive me, but how can I not love you? It is not only your eyes and your beautiful face that I adore. Your spirit, your heart is so full of life, and . . .”

She raised her hand. “Say nothing more. You must forget what you feel and never speak of it again.”

She opened the door to her room, shut it as soon as she slipped inside, and set her back against it. A sense that he hesitated outside it overtook her and she turned the brass key, though she knew he would not enter, knock, or speak to her through it. His footsteps passed slowly down the corridor and descended the staircase. Moments later, she heard the neigh of his horse. At the window, she peered out and saw him mount his steed and gallop off into the sultry night.

He left Tom behind. Staying would only have allowed his feelings to mount higher. She wanted him gone, hoping she would never see him again, never hear another confession of love, never be tempted again with kindness or with warm looks that spoke of his desire. But how could she discount a friendly acquaintance with a man who had saved her life?

On the table beneath the window, where the spray of moonlight was strongest, Eliza set her candle. She pulled the curtains wider, without any concern renegades might see a light in the casement. “If Hayward returns home tonight, this candle will show him the way.”

Her hand trembled, and hot wax splattered over her fingers. She wiped it away with a little cry and with tears in her eyes.

It burned, but not so deep to linger.

24

A
warm breeze stirred the curtains through the open windows. Eliza pushed her heavy hair off her neck, then braided it, and fastened a ribbon at the end. She left the house, stepped down the porch steps onto the parched lawn in her faded homespun gown, and headed down the dusty drive. She’d tucked her flintlock pistol into the band of her apron and she thought now of the last time she used it—when those scruffy robbers stopped them on the way to River Run.

Oppressive heat shimmered across the land in the late afternoon hours. The Potomac ran placid, and the leaves on the trees curled. She would have sent Sarah, but she needed to be alone—to pray, to long for Hayward in private. At the house she had to put on a brave face, and waited until nighttime when all were abed to release her pain in the sanctuary of her room. Now the river called her.

At riverside, she drew off her shoes and dipped her feet into the water. She shaded her eyes to look across the span of gray rock to the other side. With a turn of her head she saw a canoe gliding toward her. Two men were seated in it—one a dusky youth who dipped the paddle gingerly into the current, and the other the Reverend Hopewell.

A thrill seized her. He has brought me news about Hayward!