by RITA GERLACH
Upon hearing a man’s voice call to her, Eliza jerked her head. Through the haze a horse plowed through the snow toward her, its rider covered in a black greatcoat. She could see his eyes beneath the slouch hat he wore, above the dark scarf that covered his mouth and nose. He whipped his horse forward and drew down off the saddle. Without a word, the rider hoisted Addison as if he were weightless, flung Addison’s arm across his shoulder, and trudged toward the house. Eliza hurried behind him, the snow hugging her skirts and making them heavy. Passing him, she tugged at the door until it stood open enough to allow them inside.
She led him to the sitting room, and he lowered Addison into a chair. Fiona helped Addison with his coat and boots. Darcy ran to her mother and hugged her.
“It is all right, Darcy. This gentleman is here to help us.” She drew off her hood and stared into his eyes. He dragged off his hat and uncoiled his scarf. She drew in a breath when she saw it was Halston. “I thought you were a traveler seeking shelter.”
He bowed his head, and his pale locks fell over his eyes. “I am, ma’am. I had business west of here, and traveling home I was caught in the storm. I saw your lantern light in the distance and made way for it.”
What kind of business could have drawn him deeper into the wilderness? “I am glad you came when you did, Mr. Halston. Addison took pity on my poor mare and our cow when we heard their cries. It was too much for him.”
“They were half froze, mistress,” Addison said. “I put plenty of hay for bedding in their stalls and oats in their troughs.”
Halston drew near the fire and looked over at Addison. “Foolish to some, but nothing short of dutiful to others. If you do not mind, Mrs. Morgan, I would like to place my horse in your barn, out of the wind and cold.”
He placed his hat firmly on his head and left her standing in the middle of the room, her daughter peering at him with wondering eyes.
“The storm is weakening?” Fiona asked.
“Yes, praise God. It is almost over.”
Fiona rubbed Addison’s arms to warm him. “Addison is chilled to the bone. Let me get him to a room where I can get him under covers. We don’t need him falling ill.” Tugging, Fiona helped Addison to his feet, and he offered no protest. “The wind is low enough now. I can light a fire in the kitchen hearth.”
Eliza drew a blanket off the settee and took hold of Darcy’s hand. Down the chilly corridor they followed the slow-moving pair just ahead of them. Off the kitchen was a room wide enough for a single bed and a narrow table that held a candlestick and taper. They settled him in, and then Fiona lit a fire in the scullery grate. The room grew warm, as the fire’s fervor permeated the wall as easily as sunlight poured through a window.
“Why did you not tell me you were feeling poorly, Addison?” Eliza sat down on the bedside and tucked the blankets beneath his bristly chin. “I would have never let you go out to the barn if I had known.”
He looked at her with watery eyes. “I thought it were nothing.”
“Well, it is serious.” She touched his forehead. “You are feverish. Sleep all you can. Fiona and I will take care of you.”
She watched his eyes drift over to Darcy. She stood in the doorway, her finger in her mouth. “Addison shall be all right, little one,” Eliza told her. “Go with Fiona. She will make you something warm to eat.”
Fiona took Darcy’s hand. “I’ll fix a hearty stew for all of us. Miss Darcy would like that, wouldn’t you, child?”
Darcy smiled and blinked her eyes. “Yes, Fonna.” She could not quite form Fiona’s name over her tongue yet. “Mama? Papa home?”
Eliza lifted her in her arms and held her close. “I hope so, my darling. But I doubt it shall be today.”
Inside the kitchen, Eliza drew near the window, and through the slats she saw that Halston had taken his horse into the barn. Darcy peered out, too, and stretched out her hand to touch the frigid window glass. A moment later Halston stepped out of the barn door, shut it tight, and strode back to the house. His stride was strong, determined, and it left Eliza feeling weak—and a little afraid.
In the corner near the hearth sat a wide bench. While Eliza kneaded bread dough and Fiona stirred the stew in the cast iron pot over the fire, Darcy sat quietly with her rag doll cradled under her arms.
“She’s a pretty child, Mrs. Morgan,” Halston said. He gripped the handle of the cider-filled pewter mug.
With a smile, Eliza glanced over at her child. “Indeed she is, sir.”
“She takes after you. A beauty she shall be one day.”
Eliza pressed the dough harder into the flour. She understood what he meant when he lifted his eyes to her face. “I agree a beauty she shall be, but Darcy looks nothing like me. She has her papa’s eyes. Her hair is lighter now but will change to a rich brown in time, like Hayward’s.”
“It is unfortunate he is not home to see her grow. I fear this revolution shall keep many a man away—for years, if not forever in death. I have heard of the losses on the battlefields. And what is even more deplorable are the penal ships.”
Eliza’s heart skipped a beat. She looked over at Halston, still kneading the dough, digging her fingers deeper into it. “What may they be, Mr. Halston?” she asked in a worried tone.
“Foul jails aboard British ships, overcrowded with Sons of Liberty. Each is a disease-infested, rotting hulk.”
Eliza stopped kneading her dough. “Reverend Hopewell spoke of the injustices of the prisons at church a few Sundays ago. He said prisoners have died in the thousands from disease and hunger, more than the men on the battlefields.”
“What he said is true. The intense heat of summer causes them to suffocate. And in winter, with no blankets, they either freeze to death or die from pneumonia. Nothing can stop outbreaks of disease, especially yellow fever.”
The women in the church had prayed fervently that Sunday, with bowed heads and hands gripped together so hard one could hear the trembling of their souls. If only they could send aid—food, clothing, medicine, and blankets. But it was not to be, for the British High Command and the prison commissaries held a stern hand against all compassion, all pleas for mercy.
Halston ran his finger over the rim of the mug. “And there are not only ships that house prisoners, but they are using churches and warehouses to hold captured Patriots.”
“Churches?” She pushed the dough forward and then tossed it into the pan. “If I were a prisoner, that is where I would wish to be. What better place than the house of the Lord? But then, God is everywhere, is He not?”
“You have quite the spiritual outlook on things. I question why God allows men to suffer as they do.”
“What decision one man makes affects another. If we all chose to live by the Lord’s command to do to others as we would have them do to us, then there would be less suffering in the world.”
Halston grinned. “I shall not debate religion with you today, ma’am. I haven’t the energy for it. But I do have a desire for that stew Fiona is tending.”
After eating a hearty meal, Eliza put Darcy to bed and excused Fiona to wait on Addison. She hoped Halston might tell her news to lighten the burden she carried as they sat at the kitchen table in front of the fire. But when she asked if the war would come to an end soon, and if he had heard anything of her husband, he had nothing to offer.
He then said, “If I told you that I must fulfill my duty to God and country, would you be sorry?”
She looked over at him. “I am sorry for any man who faces war. You intend to leave soon?” Unable to avoid the tinge of regret she felt when their eyes held each other’s for too long, she stood from the table and gathered dishes.
Halston reached over and touched her fingertips. “If you were to ask me to stay . . . I would.”
Eliza paused and then moved her hand away. “That would be wrong.” Shocked that he would make such a suggestion, she set the dishes on the sideboard for washing and tried to gather herself. When she turned back, she saw the pained loo
k in his eyes. She refused to give in, and stepped away.
“Mama.” Darcy stood in the entry.
“Why are you up, darling? Has something frightened you?”
Darcy pointed to the window, and then hurried over to Eliza and nudged into her legs. “I see. Well, the storm is gone, little one.”
“Eliza,” Halston said, a hint of agitation that their conversation had been interrupted. “Would you at least permit me to write to you? I have no wife—no pledged sweetheart. Not even a mother or sister to write to. Letters are precious to men at war.”
“It would be inappropriate.”
He stood and faced her. “Why? We are friends, are we not?”
“Yes. But I belong to Hayward.”
“And he would not approve.”
“No, he would not.”
“Surely, he cannot object to our friendship, and I am sure he would be grateful that I’ve come in such foul weather to lend you a hand.”
Without an immediate reply, Eliza picked Darcy up and settled her on her hip. She was her shield between Halston and her, a reminder she was a devoted mother and wife. And although her gesture meant to warn him that he treaded where he should not, Halston’s eyes held no penance.
“I did not mean to sound ungrateful. I do not know how I would have gotten Addison in the house if not for your help.”
A swift smile came and went on Halston’s face. “I should check on the horses and your mild-mannered cow.”
“I must put Darcy back to bed, and we will say our prayers together for Hayward. She likes praying for him.”
Darcy snuggled her head against Eliza’s shoulder, her curls tumbling over her cheek. Halston nodded, gathered his hat and gloves, and drew on his greatcoat.
He paused at the door. “The snow is deep and night is falling. I will stay in Addison’s cabin the night, if you have no objection.” Then he strode out into the dull gray twilight.
“I am a Christian, Fiona. I cannot send a man out in the snow and cold at night when the river path is covered and the wolves howl with hunger. It is the right thing for me to do. Mr. Halston is our neighbor. He deserves my hospitality.”
Fiona frowned. “You are right, I suppose, to be charitable. I just don’t like the way he looks at you.”
“You are imagining things.” Eliza wrung out the cloth in the porcelain bowl and dabbed Addison’s forehead. “Oh, his fever has worsened. I will stay with him. You are worn through and need sleep.”
Lifting a weary hand to her eyes, Fiona stepped to the door. “You will wake me if you need me?”
“Of course. Now go.”
By midnight, Addison grew worse. In addition to the fever, his breathing became more labored, and his skin took on a bluish tint. Eliza moistened his mouth and cleared away the mucus that clung to his tongue. Delirium caused him to toss his head back and forth and mumble words she could not make out. And when he opened his eyes and looked up at her, tears filled them, and a fearful look came over him.
Eliza hurried to Fiona’s bedside and woke her. Together they sponged Addison’s feverish body with cool water. Nothing seemed to ease his suffering. By dawn, he was speaking to his mother, happy she stood at the foot of his bed and beckoned him. An hour later, after whispering the name of his Savior, he breathed out his last breath.
Stunned to have lost him, Eliza stood and went into the kitchen. She wept for a while in front of the fire, then dried her eyes. She had to be strong. She thought of Addison in Heaven, free from all worldly woes. She could not cry in front of Halston, would not allow him to see her deep despair. He would attempt to comfort her, and if she did not steel herself against her sorrow, she knew she would welcome his arms.
Donning her cloak, she plunged through the snow toward the cabin and told him the news. She waited at the threshold while he pulled on his boots, cloak, and hat. He followed her back to the house. The clouds were moving off to the east, and the sun was pouring down from a blue sky. They wrapped the body in canvas, and Halston carried it outside. Icicles dripped along the edge of the roof. To a snow-shrouded field he took the body over the back of his horse, with Eliza trudging behind him. She insisted Fiona stay behind with Darcy. It took some effort to lay Addison to rest in the cold ground.
“When I am able to travel to Grace Church again, I will ask Reverend Hopewell to come bless this ground.” She said a little prayer, and when she turned away, Halston lifted her at her waist to the back of his stallion and took her home.
22
In time the snow melted. Streams flooded, and the Potomac swelled its banks in springtime. Summer brought thunderstorms and drought. Yet Eliza’s garden flourished and they did not starve. The fruits of autumn were abundant, with a bounty of apples and pumpkins. Farmers harvested their wheat, brought it to the mill, and supplied River Run with enough flour to last the winter.
On a spring day, from the edge of the hilltop that overlooked the river, Eliza gazed down at the deep, blue water. Swift currents tumbled over rocks, washed over sandbars, and swirled around the trees that lined the mossy slopes.
“I will trust in your protection, Lord, that the shadow of your mighty wing will cover my child. I am afraid of being here alone without Hayward. Please protect him.” She paused, cautious of what her lips wished to confess. “I am troubled in my mind and heart, for I do not know whether he is living or dead.”
Fiona called out to her while holding Darcy’s hand to keep her from following her mother. “Come away, Eliza. You are too close to the edge. ’Tis dangerous.”
“You can see how vast the gorge is from up here,” Eliza called back. “There are signs of spring. Green and crimson buds are on the trees.”
She gathered her skirts and followed the trail that led down the hill to a level plain. Fiona met her with a smile, and Eliza took Darcy’s hand and led the way along the path where dogwoods and rhododendron grew. Sunlight sparkled through the branches, and she paused and thought of her husband.
A fortnight ago, she had sent two letters by post rider. “I hope your letters to Mr. Morgan will reach him soon,” Fiona said. “The post rider’s horse looked poorly.”
“I’ve decided to no longer worry whether he will answer. There may be reasons why he cannot. What matters is that he should receive word from home.”
“You say that, my girl, but I know better. How can you not worry?”
Eliza put her arm around Fiona’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “You understand me so well. And I love you for it.”
Along the trail, purple crocus peeked through a patch of green under the shade of the elms. She paused, leaned forward, and admired them. “Are they not lovely, Darcy? Come, you may pick them if you wish.” The tiny hands gripped a bloom and tore it away. “Here, let me help you, my darling.”
Nature had a way of lifting Eliza’s spirits. She felt closer to her Creator here, more than within any four walls made by man’s hands. Her nearness to Him gave her pause to ask for Hayward’s safety. She thought of the Hope Valley so far away, and how he had come to her rescue upon his horse with his boarhound striding alongside him. Visions of the vicarage where she grew up came to her as well.
“Remember how the spring wildflowers peppered the hills and meadows back home?” Fiona said. “And oh, the heather on the moors!”
“Sometimes I miss them,” Eliza said.
“Yes, but it was too windy in the valley. I am glad to have come here, and I’ll not pause to regret the past.”
“I am remembering Papa.” A tear slipped from Eliza’s eye, and she brushed it away. “I cannot help it. I miss him so much.”
With a sigh, Fiona looped her arm through Eliza’s. “Well, let us not forget God’s promise. He shall wipe away all tears from our eyes, and there will be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain. It keeps a grieving spirit sane.”
As they neared the house, a buck appeared at the edge of the woods, and several does wandered out into the sunlit meadow. Eliz
a shaded her eyes. “I think we have enough venison to last until October. I am glad Hayward insisted I learn how to shoot his long rifle. I’ve never killed anything in my life, but come autumn I will need to fell a deer.”
“There are turkeys in the woods too, and wild raspberries to pick.”
“And we have our herb garden and chickens.”
“The corn seed has sprouted in the garden along with the cabbages. Let us pray the Lord gives us enough rain this season.”
Fiona took Darcy’s hand and headed on. Eliza watched them walk together with the sunshine falling over their bonnets and alighting on the path. They were her responsibility, and she would not see them starve, not as long as she had breath in her body.
Upon the kitchen table sat a bowl of bright yellow apples, the last from a bountiful autumn crop kept in the cold cellar. Setting Darcy in the ladder-back chair at the table, Eliza chose one and polished it against her apron, Darcy watching her all the while with shiny brown eyes. Against the oak cutting board, she sliced the apple into thin wedges ribboned with the golden skin. Then she gathered the pieces into her hands and arranged them on a pewter plate for her daughter.
Fiona stepped out the door, humming, the egg basket in her arm. A moment passed quietly, and the breeze blew through the open window, fluttered the muslin curtains, and trembled the wildflowers in the jar beneath it. Eliza jumped when Fiona shrieked and bounded back inside, her face white as the mob-cap she wore.
“There’s a snake in the coop,” Fiona cried. “I saw him in one of the nests when I opened the door. He’s eating the eggs. And the poor hens for fear of him are roosting in the rafters.”
Without hesitation, Eliza lifted the loaded musket from where it hung from two pegs on the wall above the hearth. “Stay with Darcy, Fiona. If I do not get him, he will eat all the eggs and then the chicks.”
When she stepped inside the darkened coop, where shards of dusty sunlight poured through the cracks, she looked to see the hens perched together, staring down at her as they murmured and clucked. Her rooster paced out in the yard making a ruckus and puffing out his feathers. Eliza scrutinized the nests and backed away upon sight of the snake’s sleek body slipping over the edge of the box and down to the straw-laden floor. The head she could not see, but she frowned at the sight of the egg-shaped bulge. A shiver rushed through her limbs, as her hands gripped the long rifle. She raised it to her shoulder and cocked the hammer. But before she could fire, the serpent wound its way through a crack in the boards and slipped out.
