Before the Scarlet Dawn (8 page)

As he lifted his mouth away from hers, she gazed up at him breathless, through a mist of tears. With the way he kissed, how could he not love her? His kiss spoke of love. It spoke of devotion.

“You are unhappy, Eliza? Why the tears?”

She shook her head. “Because I am happy.”

Fiona stepped forward and looped her arm within Eliza’s. She looked at Hayward with the protective stare of a mother. “And see to it, sir, that she remains that way.”

Hayward paid Paisley his fee, and he sat down and recorded the marriage. Outside came the pounding of hooves, and he hurried to finish. The door swung open with a crash. With a gait most urgent, a gentleman dressed in a dark brown overcoat and riding boots stormed forward. He stopped short and heaved his chest to catch his breath, then dragged off his hat.

“Stop this at once. Proceed no further!” His stern eyes locked onto Hayward, then flashed over Eliza with a quiver of his mouth that showed disgust. “Tell me it isn’t so, that you have gone and married this girl.”

Hayward drew Eliza close to his side. “I have, Father. I said I would if she’d have me.”

“How can you be so foolish? What are you thinking?”

“On my life, sir, wish us well. It is done. We are man and wife.”

“Are you mad? You have deliberately defied me, and you have affronted your cousin, knowing full well he had an attachment to this girl.”

Hayward sneered. “I apologize, Langbourne,” and he gave him a rude bow.

“Mind your manners, boy,” his father warned. Eliza cringed from the way he spoke to Hayward. Why did Edward Morgan despise her?

Hayward stiffened. “I have made my choice. So has Eliza. Do not hate us for it.”

Purple with anger and almost choking with frustration, Morgan shook his fist. “How could you be so callous, so rebellious? You have broken Lilith’s heart by running off with this girl when it was understood you and she would wed.”

A laugh slipped from Hayward on the last word. “Is that what she told you? If she did, she is a liar. I offered her marriage, but she did not like the conditions and refused me. I realized she is too spoiled to live the kind of life I would require. Eliza is far superior to Miss Marsden. What did you hope to gain by following us here, Father?”

“I hoped to bring you to your senses, but I see I am too late.”

Eliza followed Hayward’s stare, as he looked past his father to the dejected man standing in the doorway. She felt sorry for Langbourne, but what could she do? Hat in hand, Langbourne said nothing. Only his eyes showed emotion, and they were inflamed with unrelenting anger.

“You there,” Edward Morgan addressed Paisley. “Undo this.”

“What is done in the Lord’s name is binding. Leave them in peace.”

“My son has rebelled against my wishes. Surely that should account for something in the
Lord’s
eyes.”

“I believe your son is of an age where God honors his vow, even if you do not.”

Morgan shifted his stare to his son. “You have no right, Hayward, to do as you please, no matter what this man says, or vows you have spoken.”

Hayward approached him. “Eliza is my wife and now your daughter-in-law. She desires what I desire. A new life on my own land, built by my own hands through my own means. Wish us well, for I do not know when, or if, I shall ever see you again.”

His father shook with unrestrained emotion. “I shall never speak your name again. I shall carry out my threat and cut you off from gaining anything from my estate. You are no longer my son.”

Hayward made no reply, but Eliza could see how hurtful Morgan’s words were. When Morgan jerked away from his son and stormed out, Hayward turned away. Langbourne stood silent near the door. For a brief moment he and Eliza looked at one another—his stare fierce under the sting of her rejection.

“You knew my mind,” she said to him. “But for hurting you as I have, I am sorry. Let us remain friends, you and I and Hayward, and please know that you will always be welcomed in our home if you should ever journey to Maryland.”

Langbourne’s eyes narrowed. He clenched his teeth and gave her a look so cold it caused her to shiver. “I have lost you, but have inherited a fortune.”

After Langbourne left, she went to her husband. Was it too late to mend such a breach? Could Hayward leave with this weighing on him—weighing on her? She ran her hand down the sleeve of his coat. “Go speak to your father. Do not let him leave on these terms. The fact that he traveled so far to find us shows he cares.”

“He has made his choice.”

“Yes, but you can change his mind, if you hurry . . . and . . .”

“You would have me lower myself? You would have me cower and beg in order to gain his forgiveness?”

It was too late. Outside the riders galloped off.

Hayward nodded farewell to the stunned couple standing behind the wedding anvil, then picked up his hat and placed it firmly on his head. The power of his father’s rejection shone in his eyes. His jaw clenched, and his hands flexed. Placing his hand on Eliza’s back, he moved her to the door and down the path. Eliza gazed at the sky. There were no clouds to hinder a darkening sky, where a gibbous moon hung alongside Venus.

“You love me, do you not, Eliza?” Hayward looked keenly into her eyes; his were the deepest and most soul-searching she had ever seen.

“Yes, I love you, Hayward. I have since I was a little girl. And I will until the day I die.”

“That is all that matters to me.” He took her hand and led her to the carriage. “Let us leave this place. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

8

T
hey traveled on and slept their first night together at a carriage inn, after dining on roasted chicken, freshly baked rolls slathered in creamy butter, potatoes, and carrots—a hefty meal in comparison to what she was accustomed to. She came to him softly, and he held her in his arms through the night.

In the morning, they made their way to the port along Solway Firth. Boats of various kinds and sizes were moored there, and the docks were cluttered with people, crates, horses, and barrels. In Eliza’s imagination, tall ships were a thing of luxury and beauty. As she stood on the deck of the
Isadora May
, she took in the height of the masts and the soft swell of the sails as they were lowered and billowed in the sea breeze. The ship made its way out to the Irish Sea in a lusty wind. The planks of the deck quivered with the throng of people. Passengers and crew mingled around her—men, women, and children, all bound for a new land.

With Hayward in the lead, Eliza and Fiona were escorted through a doorway to the deck below. A small cabin, providing room for only one occupant, with very little space to maneuver in and less fresh air to revive the body, would be Eliza’s for the duration of the voyage. With a single cot, a small writing table, and a folding canvas chair, disappointment overwhelmed her when she stepped inside. She turned to her husband and sought the reason why their accommodations were so lowly and not together.

Hayward leaned against the opening. “I do not think I have ever seen anyone look as dejected as you do right now, Eliza. I am sorry our conditions are as they are, but I am right next to you. Fiona’s little hovel is even smaller. I had no idea it would be this way.”

“The ship you arrived in was not like this?”

“Much the same, I am afraid. I was expecting better this time.”

She used humor to bear up under the weight of disappointment. “I suppose we can whisper good night to each other through the wall.”

“I suppose we can. And there is no reason to be confined down here the entire time. We will take walks up on deck as often as you wish. Wait until you see the glory of the stars out at sea.”

Eliza sighed and drew near to him. She coiled her arms around his waist and laid her head against the breast of his coat. “I shall like that, and will spend very little time in this little hutch. You’ll see. I shall make the best of it.”

The first month out at sea, gusty winds blew down from the northeast, and the ship cut through the waves at a pace where even the dolphins could not keep up. On the fifth week at sea, fever broke out among the passengers, and the sick were confined to their cabins with only one steward to attend them and a ship’s surgeon to administer to their medical needs. Every precaution was made to keep the fever from spreading. Decks and floors were scrubbed twice daily. Chamber pots emptied almost immediately instead of left to linger. The ship’s surgeon insisted on it, much to the doubts voiced by the captain that sanitary efforts would do much good.

As the days went by, more grew sick, and the supply of paregoric ran out. Eliza offered the surgeon her help, but he refused her each time and told her to avoid anyone with a cough.

“My servant and I both know how to care for sick people, sir,” she told him one afternoon as she stood outside the door of an infected passenger. “My father was a vicar, and we gave aid to the ill in our church. Most could not afford a doctor, and . . .”

“I would prefer, madam, that you stay out of my way.” He looked her up and down with a pair of beady gray eyes. She had seen him in the mess, and knew he had no lack of appetite and would scarf down enough food for two. Yet his clothes hung loose over a very lean frame, his face so narrow and thin one could see the bones protruding in his cheeks.

“I will,” said Eliza. “But you cannot stop me from giving comfort to those who accept it.”

He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Hmm. Do as you wish. Only do not interfere. I am the doctor here, not you or your servant.”

In spite of him, she took it upon herself to visit, along with Fiona, those who were ailing. Together they washed their faces and spooned broth into their mouths. She read to them, talked, and prayed with them. The ship’s surgeon took all the credit when anyone recovered.

Hayward grew anxious after the surgeon alerted him to what his wife and female servant were doing. When a man’s young wife died, he ordered her to stop. Eliza stood beside him when the woman’s body, wrapped in canvas, slipped off a plank into a watery grave.

He heard the grieving husband say, “We were only married a few months.” And, “We left Britain to begin a new life in the Colonies.”

The captain stood beside him, opened a prayer book, and recited along with the passengers and crew the Lord’s Prayer. Hayward felt a sting of dread pass through him when he saw the man cry as the body went over the edge of the ship and splashed into the ocean.

Later that evening, he found Eliza sitting with a woman close to Fiona’s age. By the door, he watched her. With care, she put a tin cup to the woman’s mouth and helped her drink. Her compassion amazed him.

“You must drink all you can. It will help you get well.” She wiped the woman’s mouth with a cloth.

“Thank you, Mrs. Morgan,” the woman said, her voice raspy and low. “You are so kind and have lifted my spirits. I know I shall recover because of you. I didn’t think anyone cared, me being a person of low estate.”

Eliza patted the woman’s hand. “It should not matter, Matilda. We are all God’s children and equal in His eyes. Good news. Your fever has broken.”

Hayward snatched Eliza by the arm and pulled her away. “You must stop.”

She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Why? I have done nothing wrong.”

“You are interfering with the surgeon’s duties. And this fever is contagious. You could catch it. As your husband, I order you not to help these people.”

Her eyes filled, and she looked down at the floor. “I will obey you, Hayward. But it makes me sad to do so.” And she hurried away from him, back to her modest compartment.

He heard her sob, and would have opened the door and tried to comfort her. But he determined he should not spoil her in that way. Tears were a woman’s tool, and he refused to be persuaded by them. If he gave in, and the fever took hold of her and she died, he would be responsible.

Fearing for his wife’s health, Hayward approached the captain and demanded other quarters away from the sick. The captain stood on the quarterdeck, his feet set firm with the rise of the ship over another wave.