Before the Scarlet Dawn (9 page)

He refused with a shake of his head. “No, sir. You’ve paid your fare, and that is what you get for it.”

Hayward, too, set his boots firm and stood his ground. “There must be something else besides that hellhole you call a cabin, sir. I insist you remove my wife away from the infection immediately, preferably with large windows so she may have the air.”

Annoyed, the captain glanced at Hayward and lifted his face to the wind. Tufts of steel-gray hair blew away from his ears beneath his black cocked hat. His face looked tough as boot leather, weathered and heavily lined from the sun and sea. He smelled of sweat and brine, and rubbed the stubble on his chin.

“What if every passenger demanded new quarters, Mr. Morgan?” Eyes fixed straight ahead, he went up and down on his toes, hands folded behind his back. “What would I do then? And why should I give your wife preference?”

Determined, Hayward dug his hand into his breast pocket. “Because I have the extra coin to make it happen, sir. A gold piece should suffice. Now, will you find her other quarters or not?”

The captain lifted his wispy brows and looked down at the shiny coin in Hayward’s palm. “I believe I might. If you would follow my steward, he will show you what we have.”

He waved the steward over, leaned to his ear, and gave him an order. “We shall do this quietly, Mr. Morgan. I do not want the other passengers knowing. It would cause unpleasantness. Your wife is favored, sir—the quarters next to mine are reserved for dignitaries.”

Hayward thanked the captain and dropped the coins into his hand. He then followed the steward through the door and down a set of steep stairs into the gloom. The lad carried a large iron ring of keys and shoved one into the lock. It clicked, and he pushed open the door. A bed with room enough for two, a table, two chairs, a writing desk, and a washstand, were more than adequate. Windows lined the rear of the cabin, and the steward opened them to air the quarters out.

Pleased he had made such excellent progress in convincing the captain to move Eliza, and that he could share the cabin with his wife, Hayward stepped out and ordered the steward to fetch Eliza’s belongings. He found her up on deck.

“I have a surprise, Eliza. I think you will be pleased.” He drew her away from the ship’s rail where she gazed out at the choppy waves and the seabirds that whirled in the sky.

“What is it?” She looked at him, intrigued.

“You will see.” He held out his hand and took her down the steps to the corridor.

When he opened the door and brought her inside to her new lodgings, her face blushed from her throat to her hair.

“We will be together for the remainder of the voyage.” He closed the door.

She turned to him, her skirts whispering along the cabin floor. “How were you able to get this? I thought there were no others.”

He set his hand on the table and settled back. “Money can buy almost anything.”

The sea air that ruffled the ends of her hair drew her to the windows. She knelt on the cushioned seat, and he watched her while she gazed out at the roll of waves that foamed behind the ship. “I feel guilty I have been moved when others are still cramped below.”

He sat next to her and picked up a lock of her hair between his fingers. “I do not want to hear about the others. You mustn’t run to every problem that arises and try to fix it. Let the ship’s surgeon do his job.”

Taking his hand into hers, she touched the ring around his finger. “I only wanted to help.”

“So did I. And this is my way of doing it. I am obliged to protect you. I was much affected by the loss of that young gentleman’s wife. Understand?”

“Yes, I understand completely. Do you not know that I have thought the same about you? I would not want you to fall prey to this either, and if I were to lose you, I do not think I could bear the pain.”

Indeed, what would she do if something were to happen to him before they reached River Run? How would she prove to anyone who she was, that she was mistress of his estate? And he had no will as of yet. As this was too bleak to dwell on, Hayward shoved it from his mind and instead gazed at Eliza’s pretty eyes.

She held his stare a moment. “But if Fiona falls sick, you must allow me to take care of her. If I were allowed, I would call her
mother.
”

Hayward kissed the top of her hand. “We will discuss it if it happens. Which I do not believe it will. Your servant is made of cast iron.”

“I wish you would not refer to her as a servant, Hayward. She is my friend, and has cared for me all my life. But you are right about the stuff she is made of. I do not recall Fiona ever being sick. She has always taken care of those who are. You will still permit her to do so, won’t you?”

He shrugged. “If she is doing some good, and the surgeon does not mind, of course I will not forbid it. But with you it is different.”

Eliza wrapped her arms around his waist. He held her close as twilight fell and entered the cabin. Daylight faded and the sunset bathed the walls pale rose. They were alone, and the scent of her hair and the warmth of her nearness, sent his senses reeling.

He raised her face to his and kissed her lips.

9

H
igh winds brought them into the Chesapeake Bay on a balmy summer’s morning. The sun hung bright over the harbor in Annapolis and sparkled atop the water. Seabirds fluttered their wings in the breeze, darted and dove, and perched on pilings. The town, bathed in gleaming light, looked welcoming, and the clang of ships’ bells rang out amid the din of wagon wheels, horses, and people as they moved over the cobbled streets.

Eliza stood at the ship’s rail and admired the beauty of the bay and the glory of the colonial city. The breeze lifted her hair from her face. She shut her eyes and drew in a deep breath. The ship laid anchor, and seamen climbed the rigging to furl the sails. She watched them scurry up the ropes as if God had given them the speed of lesser creatures. It caused her to smile, to see the figures contrasted against the crisp blue sky, among the outstretched wings of stark-white gulls.

But an interruption followed, for when the ship’s crew began to unload bundles of English cloth, crates of tea, and other goods, the customs officers turned them back. Maryland would no longer receive English goods into their ports. Hayward and Fiona stood beside Eliza. Hayward addressed one

of the officers.

“I have been away for some time. What has happened?”

“Lexington and Concord, sir.” The officer turned to leave.

Hayward drew him back. “When?”

“On the nineteenth of April. The first shots were fired as the sun rose.”

Hayward glanced over at Eliza. She saw concern in his eyes, but his expression was emboldened. “Are we in danger?” she asked, touching his sleeve.

“The fighting is far to the north.”

“But you will keep to your pistol, even if we are as safe as you say?”

He looked down at her and smiled lightly. “In England there are highwaymen. In Maryland, it is no different.”

As they moved to the ship’s gangplank, Eliza scanned the town. The passengers the
Isadora May
had carried to America nudged past her, sober persons dressed in the common clothes of the working class, who carried a single sack of worldly possessions. Hayward took her hand and moved her forward with him.

Once they were on the dock, he told her to sit alongside Fiona near a stack of barrels. “Stay here until I return. I will not be long.” He checked the coins in his pocket, and then handed her a few. “Here, keep these with you.”

She drew in a breath. “You are leaving me?”

“I must unload my horse.”

She smiled. “Yes, of course.”

“And then I must purchase a gentle mare. Fiona can ride her. You will ride with me. You do not expect us to walk to River Run, do you?”

He strode off, and she kept her eyes fixed upon him as he disappeared into the bustling crowd. Fiona placed her hand over Eliza’s.

“Not to worry, my girl. He will be back soon.”

Eliza sighed. “What if he has come to regret me, Fiona?”

“Why would Mr. Hayward do that?” Fiona craned her head and looked through the throng.

“It is foolish of me to doubt him, I suppose.”

“Has he done something to cause you to feel this way?”

“It is what he has not done.”

“I should not ask what.”

“I thought he would have confessed his love by now. You know life better than I, having lived so long and . . .”

Fiona huffed. “I am hardly in my grave.”

“That is not what I meant. What I am asking is what must a new bride expect?”

“Expect nothing and that way you shan’t be disappointed.”

“Perhaps that is true, but what about love?”

“Love was a one-way street in my situation, my girl. You know that.”

“Yes . . . He sleeps beside me, but never speaks of love . . . Oh, what have I done wrong?”

Fiona shook her head. “Just give him time and be a dutiful wife.”

A lump grew in Eliza’s throat. “I am trying to be.”

“Perhaps Mr. Hayward is fighting falling in love with you,” said Fiona. “Some men are that way. They are afraid of love. Or they think speaking of it is a sign of weakness. But not to fear. Soon he will come around.”

They waited for an hour in the same spot. Though a warm breeze blew that morning, Eliza drew her cloak closer about her until she saw Hayward pass through the tide of people back toward her.

“Look, Fiona, by the fruit merchant’s cart. It is Hayward.”

She watched him speak to the merchant. The man handed over a sack, and Hayward paid him. His horse pranced restlessly, having been kept in a stall for so long, and was anxious to run. The brown mare beside him snorted and shook her shaggy mane.

Once he reached Eliza, he handed her the sack. Opening it, she looked inside. “Apples. How wonderful!”

Hayward checked the pillion behind his saddle. “You need them after having shipboard food.”

She reached out and stroked the mare’s nose. “Oh, and she is lovely.”

“She is yours,” he said. “I got her for a good price. The seller said her name is Nell. Very plain, I would say, so if you want to change it . . .”

“No.” Eliza set her gloved hand over the mare’s broad neck. “I like Nell.”

The breeze coming in from the bay blew tepid, momentarily abating the heat of the day. It moved the lapels of Hayward’s coat back, enough for her to see the pistol he had tucked inside the band of his breeches. To protect her, she had no doubt. She felt safe with him, assured of a pleasant journey toward her new home.

Soon Annapolis lay behind them. Shade from the thick canopy of trees stretched over the narrow road. The sun showered silvery dust through the breaks. Within the woodlands, birdsongs echoed clear and sweet, and honeybees hummed over the heads of Queen Anne’s lace.

As the sun rose even higher, so did the heat. Eliza, grateful for the shade, dropped her cloak from off her shoulders and gathered her hair to one side of her neck. Mid-afternoon brought the cicadas out of hiding, and they trilled in the trees. So unlike the quiet, windy countryside where she grew up, the many sounds of birds and insects seemed almost deafening. It all delighted her.

“How far is River Run?” The breeze blew her hair back from her shoulder, and she inhaled the sweet scent of wildflowers blooming along the dusty path.

“At the most, ninety miles.” Omega sidestepped and Hayward pulled the reins to the right to settle him. “You only have to tell me if you grow weary, and Fiona, too, and we will pause.”

“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.”