by RITA GERLACH
The thought of Redcoats stomping over River Run, Indians lurking in the woods nearby, and she without her husband, made Eliza frown. Despite Hayward’s assurances, she imagined what the Indians would do to her and Fiona if they were to attack their home. And she feared what English officers would demand of her if they set foot on her doorstep. Yet she raised her face and said, “I am British. Surely no English soldier would harm me.”
“As long as you say you sympathize with them and support the King, and show hospitality to the officer in command, they will treat you well.”
Eliza bit her lower lip. How could he, knowing the risks, leave her? “I hope you are wrong and that no soldiers from either side shall come anywhere near River Run. If they do, I shall be certain to write to you and tell you of it.”
“Never mind what I said. Put it out of your mind, Eliza. The fighting will stay well to the east and north of here. I should not have said anything. Now you will worry and do your best to make me feel guilty for it.”
Unable to forbid angry tears from coming, they welled in her eyes, pooled, and slipped down her cheek. “I will not speak of it again, Hayward. Just promise me that you will come back.”
His long sigh drew her gaze. “Where else would I go? River Run is mine. You are mine. Nothing will prevent me from returning, except death.”
A moan escaped her lips, and she leaned into him. “Do not speak of death, Hayward. It frightens me, especially when there is so much for us to live for.”
“There are some things worth dying for, Eliza. Liberty is one of them.”
She lowered her eyes to hide her disappointment. “Perhaps you cannot promise you will come back to me, but I can promise I will be here waiting for you.”
He did not look at her, but nodded. Her lips parted to speak, but the words did not come. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest. She felt him breathe out. She had to put it all in the Almighty’s hands and rely solely upon Him. But she could not help but yearn for the mortal closeness and protectiveness of her husband.
The next morning heat fanned across the lowlands and withered the wildflowers that grew in the fields. No breeze stirred in the trees or rippled the tall grass. The courtship song of the cicadas swept through the trees. With each passing rider or odd wagon that passed over the road above the Potomac, rusty clouds kicked beneath hoof and wheel and settled over the flora. The water in the river receded and revealed the deeper boulders and rocks scattered on the muddy bottom.
In the afternoon, when a hazy sun settled above the treetops, a courier upon a brown gelding galloped down the river path toward River Run. Eliza saw him from the porch and stood with her hand above her eyes to block the sun’s glare as he approached. With a sweep of his hat, he dismounted in front of the house and handed Eliza a message sealed in scarlet wax.
Wrought in the most elegant hand were the words To Mr. Hayward Morgan and Mrs. Morgan on the front. Beneath, the slender hand inscribed in decorative scrolls Twin Oaks, Virginia. Along the Potomac.
Eliza, thinking Hayward would indulge her curiosity, broke the seal and unfolded the invitation, and read what she believed would be a turning point in their social life. She stepped into the sitting room, where the sunlight shone bright through the windows, and sat down across from Fiona.
“Promise not to tell Addison I am sewing him a new shirt.” Fiona slipped a needle through the coarse linen fabric. “ ’Tis a surprise. The man has such tattered clothes, not that a laborer like him minds, but a man should have at least one good shirt to wear to church on Sundays and to social affairs—barn dances, no doubt in his case.”
Smiling, Eliza picked up a length of rich apricot silk from the wicker basket beside the chair. She ran her hands over it, relishing the sleek feel of the new cloth and imagining the finished product. She only needed to add a bit of ribbon along the bodice and finish the hem. “You have a kind heart, Fiona. But beware: when a woman makes a shirt for a man, it gives him cause to fall in love with her.”
Fiona hooted and waved her hand. “Oh, go on with you, Eliza. He’d never do that. We are past our years.”
“You are not yet fifty. You are never too old for love. I shall keep your secret about Addison’s shirt, Fiona. And you are to keep mine . . . Still, it is kind of you. I think you like him and do not want to admit it.”
A wave of rose blushed Fiona’s cheeks, and she wiggled in her chair. “Oh, he is a bother. Pesters me like a lad running about my feet.”
Eliza laughed lightly. After a pause she said, “Hayward and I have been sent an invitation to a gathering at Twin Oaks. At last, I’ll have the chance to meet our neighbors on the other side of the river.”
Fiona set her sewing on her lap. “Do you feel well enough? You have seemed tired of late. It may be wise not to go.”
“You are overly protective of me. I am feeling well.”
“But Mr. Morgan may decline. You’ll have to accept his decision.”
“Oh, he will accept . . . I can finish the gown in time, if you will help me.”
Fiona’s eyes widened. “You cannot be serious, Eliza. A gown of that shade in summer?”
“The color is beautiful. It will be the best gown I have, and I intend to wear it.”
“Women wear light colors in lustring and muslin this time of year. You will raise some eyebrows, I guarantee.”
Despite Fiona’s warning, Eliza pulled thread through a needle. “Why should I look like everyone else? I shall tell them it is the fashion in England.”
Fiona paused, needle held high in the air. “Your good nature is due to your faith, my girl. But wherever you got your impulsive streak, I never could tell.”
“Such rules are meant to be crossed when they are not praiseworthy,” said Eliza. “If I had no compulsion to follow my heart, I may not have won my husband.”
When she heard Hayward dismount outside, she stood and hurried out to meet him in the hallway. He drew off his hat, and she handed him the invitation. In the cool, shadowy foyer she waited while he looked it over.
“I could not resist reading it first. I knew by the handwriting it was an invitation.” She pushed back a curl that brushed over her cheek. Why did Hayward have to look so serious? “I hope you are not angry.”
“No, I’m not angry. It was addressed to both of us.” He folded the invitation and handed it back. “Do you really want to go? There will be a lot of stuffy elites there.”
“I can handle the stuffiest of persons, Hayward. What matters the most to me is the chance to attend an elegant affair with my husband. Yes, I wish to go.”
“Then we shall.” He walked inside the brightly lit study. There were books sparsely set upon the bookshelves now, and Eliza had moved his desk near a window so he could see out of doors and feel the breeze on a warm day.
She stood in the doorway watching him. Perhaps when he saw her decked out in her best gown, her hair dressed in the silver band of pearls he had bought her, then he would give in and say he loved her. If only he could do that now when she was plainly dressed, while her hair spilled down her back and the ends whispered over her hips.
She leaned against the doorjamb. “I’m finishing a gown for the occasion. I think you’ll be pleased when you see how lovely it is.”
He glanced up from the ledger he held. “I shall look forward to it. My only concern will be how many men will stare at you in it.”
“I only care that your eyes admire me. Besides, the gentlemen will have their own ladies to ogle over.”
“True enough, but you shall outdo them all. You’ll see.”
Pleased by his words, that he thought so much of her, she gazed at him, wishing he would set the ledger down and come to her. “Not for a moment do I want other men staring at me. I belong to you, and all of me is for your eyes alone.”
He grinned and set the ledger down. “I am convinced it is something that cannot be helped.”
A wave of happiness rushed though Eliza at h
is comment. But she meant what she said. To have other men admire her bothered her greatly, for too often admiration led to lust. “Perhaps I shall be of interest because I am a newcomer, and only that.”
She spoke softly and shyly, glad he had no interest in what was in or out of fashion, or the etiquette of dress for ladies of her standing. Some husbands would have questioned their wives on the gown they intended to wear, or they would insist to see them in it beforehand in order to approve it.
He laughed lightly. “You underestimate the power of your beauty, Eliza.”
She released a heavy sigh. “It pleases me that you see me that way, but I am not beautiful, Hayward. Not in a worldly sense.”
He shook his head. “I do not understand you. Women are vain creatures. Why not you?”
“If God does not look on the outer appearance of anyone, then why should we? My heart is what is important, my love.” She moved to him, placed her hand in his, and held it against her breast so he could feel her beating heart. “I long that you would look here, Hayward. My true self is what you shall find if you do.”
With a wary look in his eyes he drew his hand away. “You are too philosophical for your own good, Eliza. God made your face and body for me, as your husband, to admire. Think on that for a while, will you?”
He pulled away from his desk, gathered her into his arms, and kissed her. Indeed she felt his desire, but what was desire without love? Perhaps that would change in time, and their marriage would grow into a lasting friendship.
He then asked her to wait for him upstairs, and as she ascended the staircase she whispered, “Who can find a virtuous woman, for her price is far above rubies.” Be that woman, Eliza. Do not falter, no matter how difficult it may be. If he never says he loves you, stay true, and know that what is in the heart is deeper than any words can describe.
The day Eliza had anticipated finally arrived. She came down the staircase in her new gown feeling excited and hopeful. Fiona had brushed out her hair until it gleamed in a nimbus of ebony spirals. Long strands hung over one shoulder, with the rest pulled up and fastened with a pearl band. Sunlight, warm and sultry, streamed through the open windows and spilled over her.
Hayward waited near the door, and when his eyes lifted to her as she descended the stairs, they warmed at the sight of her in the gown. How she hoped it would be enough to distract him from thoughts of war, for she had no doubt the men would engage in conversations concerning America’s break with England.
At the bottom step, she turned in a complete circle for his inspection. “Do you approve, my love?” She ran her hands down the fabric. “Is it not pretty?”
His eyes ran over the lightly boned bodice, over the falls of ivory lace at the sleeves, and the lacings in the back that drew in her waist. Then he turned his eyes away. “I do not think you should wear it.”
Disappointment vanquished her smile, and dashed her hopes of pleasing him. “Why not? What is wrong with it?”
“The ladies will . . .”
“Disapprove?”
“They will envy such a gown. And they will think you quite forward for wearing such a color. Do you want to be the subject of their gossip?”
“I will bear up under any scrutiny that may come my way.”
She raised the hem above the heels of her satin shoes, exited the house, and made her way to the carriage. Determined she would not bend to any rules she found absurd, she sat down in the seat with her back toward Addison, who acted as coachman. She was ready to have it out then and there with Hayward if he were to order her back inside to change. But, to her surprise, he climbed inside and sat across from her without saying a word. The expression on his face, the smirk that crossed his lips, said she would get what she deserved for being so bold and defiant.
12
I win Oaks rivaled the finest plantations along the Potomac, encompassing one thousand sprawling acres of rich, green pastureland. The oaks that gave the estate its name could be seen atop a hill from the riverbank. The furthest point to the south and west stretched to the branch of the Shenandoah River, where it converged with the Potomac near Harpers Ferry.
It was on of the first estates in this part of Virginia, and the house, erected in 1724, had replaced the log cabin built by Thaddeus Rhendon, the grandfather of the current owner, Captain Rhendon. Abiding with him were his wife Amelia, two daughters, and his infant son, Daniel.
Hayward knew of the prosperity of Twin Oaks; Rhendon’s ownership of twenty slaves, ten of which were indentured from England; and the splendid thoroughbreds that rivaled any racers in the Potomac lowlands. “One day River Run will be great,” Eliza responded when he described Rhendon’s good fortune with a hint of jealousy in his voice. “It will take time and hard work. Do not envy what Captain Rhendon has inherited.”
Hayward lifted his hand away from his chin. “I suppose you will say it is a sin. You are your father’s daughter, after all.”
“It shall only bring you sorrow if you covet what is not yours. Be happy for your friend instead.”
“He is not quite my friend. Merely an acquaintance.”
“Is his wife an amiable woman?”
He laid his hand over his knee and looked out the carriage window. “I imagine so. I have not met her, but they say she is pretty, and Southern through and through, from an old Williamsburg family and one not to debate with over Southern ideologies.”
“I see. That is a pity.”
He glanced at her, his brow severe. “Eliza . . .”
“Never fear. I am passionate on many subjects, but for your sake I shall hold my tongue and behave. Besides, it is unseemly for a woman to debate in public.”
“Humph. You would debate if you were prodded enough, I wager.”
She smiled broadly. “You have gotten to know me so well, Hayward. But I promise to rein in all temptation to let loose on any subject that comes up.”
Pleased to hear she would behave, Hayward fastened his eyes on his wife’s youthful face. A hint of powder graced it, but nothing more. Her eyes sparkled from the flickering sunlight that danced through the trees as their carriage passed along the road.
When they crossed the bridge at the point closest to the river, Eliza leaned toward the window. He saw she had no fear as it swirled below. The quick rise and fall of her breathing caused the gold cross she wore to flash at her throat.
He wondered why he had still not fallen deeply in love with the woman behind the eyes, behind the flesh he so desired. What prevented him? What held him back from opening up his heart? The gentle curve of her mouth and the glint of her expression spoke of her kindness, her virtue, and her goodness, all things that thrived beneath the outward appearance. But her flesh meant more to him than the whole of her.
He stared, studying the inquisitive expression on her face as she admired the passing landscape. It was then he decided he had to make an effort.
A scarlet-clad footman assisted Eliza down. Eager and nervous, she gazed at the crowd of people that moved up the broad marble steps to the veranda lined with white portico columns. So much did the house resemble the Georgian manors of England that she smiled at the irony. They talked of breaking free from England, yet did not mind the architecture of Britain’s most prominent aristocrats.
Greeting guests by the door stood Virginia’s nobility. The Rhendons looked as regal as any blue-blooded couple Eliza had ever seen. Beside them stood a gentleman whose way of standing out in the crowd caught her immediate attention. His proud expression mirrored Hayward’s—yet not so handsomely. At least that is what Eliza told herself to stave off a quick flutter of the heart.
Hayward held his arm out to her, and she coiled hers through it and laid her gloved hand over his forearm. Her wide-brimmed hat shadowed her face. The ivory-colored ribbon that held it hung loose along her throat where her necklace dangled and sparkled. The gold cross pressed against her skin, and she thought how faith had brought her to this point—faith in God, faith in herself to be strong enou
gh to carry out His plan for her life. She sensed she would need it tonight, and decided she would always wear the necklace to remind her of where she had been and where she was going.
In unison, heads turned. Women spoke to one another in whispers. They looked her up and down, judging her over a mere color, Eliza thought. Or was it over something else? And by the glances they gave her husband behind their painted fans, she knew they found him handsome. She was proud to be his wife, and admired how fine he looked in his new suit of clothes.
The breeze rustled the wisteria that grew along the lattice of the veranda. Her nerves were taut as they made the final step. Captain Rhendon offered a friendly hand to Hayward, and they shook. Hayward bowed to Mrs. Rhendon and kissed the top of her hand. He was gracious, having not become so much of a frontiersman that he had lost the courtly manner of an English gentleman.
As Hayward brought Eliza forward to introduce her, Amelia Rhendon looked down her long Grecian nose and measured her head to toe.
Assessing me, is she? Seeing if I am properly attired in the latest fashion? Oh, Lord, how shall I ever fit in with such wealthy people?
With grace, Eliza curtsyed. Captain Rhendon reached for her hand and grasped it. “It is a pleasure, Mrs. Morgan. My, you are as pretty as a peach, if you don’t mind me saying.”
His tone was kind, and she liked him. “Thank you for the compliment, sir.”
“You are welcome to more if your husband does not object.” With a jolly laugh, he turned to his wife. “Amelia, my dear, you have at last seen the elusive Mrs. Morgan. What do you think?”
Amelia arched her fine brows high. “Mrs. Morgan is the personification of what I imagine an Englishwoman to be. But I declare, is that the fashion in Britain these days, my dear, that a lady should wear such earthy colors this time of year? As you can see, the ladies present wear cooler shades.” Amelia swept out her hand to point out the crowd of maids and matrons.
