by RITA GERLACH
“Hmm. A brave soul is what will get her through life. She inherited it from you.”
Eliza’s lips parted at those words. “Please do not say that again. Darcy cannot grow up to be anything like me. I am weak, Fiona. I am a sinner and a liar. I have kept secrets from my husband, and I will reap what I have sown one day.”
Fiona set the yarn on her lap. “You cannot curse yourself like that. What is done is done, and God is merciful to the repentant. As for me, I’ll go to my grave with what I know.”
The door to the sitting room swung open and spread a shadow across the floor. Sarah stepped inside and struggled to catch her breath. The pallor of her skin shone white as the chemise that peeked from beneath her bodice. Her eyes were wide and fearful. Muddy along the hem, her dress was soaked through and clung to her frame, and a puddle of water was forming around her feet.
Eliza looked up to see her shiver. “Sarah? What is it?”
Sarah’s hands shook as she pushed her fingers against her scalp. “Ilene . . .”
A chill rippled through Eliza. She set Darcy back and stood. “What do you mean? Where is Ilene?”
All atremble, Sarah clutched the tattered folds of her dress. “Ilene was with me in the cabin. I fell asleep with her beside me. When I woke, she was gone. The cabin door was open. Is she in the house?”
Eliza took Sarah by the arm. “She’s probably in Darcy’s room. Go and see. I will look down here.” Fiona went with Sarah, and Eliza could hear their steps moving upstairs. She searched the kitchen, the small bedroom adjacent to it, everywhere except Hayward’s study. He’d shut his door and asked not to be disturbed, as he was to write letters that night.
When Eliza met Sarah and Fiona at the foot of the stairs, Sarah threw her hands against her eyes and sobbed. “Where could she be, mistress?” She dropped her hands and looked at Eliza, shadowed by fear. “I never thought she could reach the latch and open the door on her own.”
A lump, deep and painful, welled in Eliza’s throat. A moan poured through her lips. The palms of her hands turned icy cold. Ilene! She is alone out in the storm!
“Hayward!” She hurried to his door and opened it. “Come quickly. Ilene is missing.”
“How can that be?” He stood and came around his desk.
“We’ve searched both the cabin and the house. She’s out in the storm . . .”
She hurried away with Sarah beside her. Heedless of the mud in the yard that soaked through her shoes and splashed her hem, she searched the misty stretch of land before her. She ran toward the cabin.
“Eliza, come back. You’ll catch your death!” Hayward caught up with her and grabbed her by the arm. Breathless, he swung her around. The rain soaked his face and dripped from the ends of his hair.
Taking quick gasps, she struggled to find her breath. She looked up at him, the rain on the tips of her lashes, her wet hair clinging to her throat and cheeks. “We must help Sarah find her.”
She whirled out of his grasp and hurried off, with him following. The barn looked gray in the rain, shadowed by an enormous elm. The branches bowed with the weight of the storm, the bark appearing as black as the crows that gathered along the limbs.
At the base of the tree, Ilene lay curled up and shivering. Eliza and Sarah ran to her and fell on their knees. Eliza brushed back the wet hair that covered Ilene’s eyes. Sarah gathered her in her arms, but Hayward moved her aside and lifted the child into his own.
“We must bring her to the house,” Eliza said.
His scowl darkened. “Her place is in the cabin, Eliza. I will take her in.” The sternness in his voice arrested her. “I swear, if this child dies . . .”
Widening her eyes, Eliza pressed her hand against his lips. “Do not speak it!” she cried. “Bring her to the house, please.”
She pulled him by his sleeve, and, with Hayward relenting, they hurried back.
Hayward stared into the child’s face. For a moment, he again saw a resemblance to Darcy, the same shape of eyes, jaw, and lips. Eliza spoke softly to Ilene, brushed back the child’s hair, and caressed her cheek.
Eliza’s hands were quick to remove the wet clothing that clung to the child’s skin. “Fiona, bring hot water. Sarah, fetch one of Darcy’s nightshifts.”
Hayward stopped Sarah and frowned at Eliza. “You’ll put one of our daughter’s nightshifts on the child of a servant?”
Eliza gently pulled the soaked and tattered dress over Ilene’s head. “The child’s clothes are soaked through, and she will catch her death of cold, if she has not already.”
“Oh, pray God it not be so.” Sarah’s face, marked with worry, paled and tears slipped down her cheeks.
Hayward stepped up to her. “How could you be so negligent?”
Sarah looked at Hayward, her eyes pleading. “I had shut the door, and . . .”
“I do not wish to hear your excuses. You should have been a better mother, like Eliza. She would never have let her child slip out without noticing, unlike you.”
Sarah shivered and looked at him, terrified. Eliza glanced over at them, stood, and faced Hayward. “You mustn’t blame Sarah. It was an accident. She is a good mother, and has a kind heart.”
Sarah lowered her eyes, and although Hayward could see the pain she was in and the guilt that overwhelmed her, his disdain did not lessen. “Go do as your mistress bids.” His expression was severe as he stepped over to the window and stared outside as Sarah hastened away.
“I should go see what damage the storm has done, Eliza. I will be back in an hour.” Without a glance at the worried countenance of his wife, he walked out. He pressed his hat down hard on his head. The path that ran through his land curved along the line of trees. Droplets of rain fell from the leaves and splashed against his hat and onto his shoulders. He lifted his eyes and scanned the horizon.
With his heart troubled, he snatched up a broken branch from off the ground and smacked the tall weeds with the frustration he felt. He walked on, digging his heels into the soaked earth. His heart convicted him. He should have expressed more concern for a life than his land. Perhaps he had. He thought about his wife and the compassion she showed for Ilene. He shook his head. No . . . not compassion. She showed intense fear . . . as if the child were . . .
His jaw stiffened, and he threw the branch into the trees, chastising himself for thinking so irrationally.
It seemed like he had gone miles by the time he returned. His boots were covered with mud, his face drawn into a frown that he felt to his core. With a sluggish hand, he drew off his hat and tossed it aside. Then he looked into the sitting room, where a puddle of rainwater had stained the wood floor. He whirled around on the heels of his boots and strode down the hall to the small room where he’d been told Addison Crawley had died and where Sarah had recovered. Now a babe lay sick and helpless.
He drew up to the door and pushed it in. Sarah was kneeling beside the bed, her head cradled in her arms. Eliza sat beside her, her hand over Sarah’s shoulder. He watched how intently she gazed into Ilene’s face, how she lifted a weary hand and brushed her hair away from her cheek. His chest tightened, and he gripped the doorframe. A frown stiffened the muscles in his face as he looked at the child’s fevered brow, saw how it glistened, how soaked the curls of her hair were.
He spoke to Eliza and thought he heard her whisper a reply while her attention was steadfast upon the child. Feeling ignored, he dug his fingers into the doorjamb. Fiona wrung out a cloth and dabbed the child’s face with it. He glanced away and for the first time observed the humbleness of the room. His hand touched a crude table beside the door. A handful of wildflowers drooped in an old bottle half full with water.
Hayward moved his eyes to the cross on the wall above the bed. A simple grapevine twisted into two unequal spears hung above the suffering girl’s body. Ilene shivered from the force of the fever. Hayward drew closer to study his wife’s attentiveness. It is overly zealous. Why?
“Lord, do not take her,” he heard Eliza whis
per.
He laid his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Let Sarah and Fiona tend to the child. Come away.” She lifted her eyes, and when he caught the sorrow that flooded them, he drew his hand away.
“Sarah is afraid, my love. It is best I stay.” Her gaze shifted back to the bundle lying under the blankets.
“And what about Darcy?”
“Darcy is in her room. She knows nothing about this.”
“It’s just as well. I do not want her frightened. Go look in on her. Your place is with her.”
“I must not leave. Ilene is very sick.”
“You have done enough. Sarah will care for her child.” He turned to Fiona. “You should prepare supper. Or will that be neglected too?”
“No, sir.” Fiona pressed her lips together, lifted her head, and went out into the kitchen.
Eliza’s hands fell over Hayward’s arms. “My love, as mistress of River Run, it is my duty to be here.”
“Your duty is to obey your husband. My word is law.”
“You would begrudge me this?”
“Have you been by to look in on your own daughter?”
“Yes.” She looked at him. “Darcy is well.”
Unable to believe her, he rushed out the door and up the stairs. He found Darcy stretched out on the floor with a picture book. He slid his arms under her body and gathered her up. Troubled, he sat with her in the chair, her head muzzled into the crook of his shoulder, her curls caressing his rough cheek.
As Darcy clung to him, he pampered her with all the words a father could. Later, when night had fallen, he set her in her bed, gathered a blanket around her, placed her doll in her arms, and kissed her forehead.
Eliza looked at the beams in the ceiling, and shook off her slumber. She turned her head to see Fiona asleep in a chair and Sarah awake and staring down at Ilene with careworn eyes. She moved into the hall, went upstairs, and found Darcy sound asleep, her bow mouth slightly parted, her chest moving in an easy rhythm. Her heart swelled, and she reached over to touch her daughter’s hair.
“How careless I have been,” Eliza whispered. “I am sorry, my darling girl. You must forgive your mama.”
She reached for her day dress, slipped it over her head, and pulled tight the drawstrings along the bodice. Out in the hall, she met Hayward as he came up the stairs. These days were like the days when her heart would skip like a young doe’s whenever she would think of him. He picked up her hands. She loved how warm and strong they felt, how small hers were within his. Hayward would protect her and Darcy—and certainly Ilene. How could she believe otherwise?
“You should not be up.” His eyes held hers, as if he were seeking more from her. “You look tired.”
“I am.” She sighed and pushed back a lock of hair. “I just looked in on Darcy. She is sleeping peacefully.”
She turned to leave him, but he touched her elbow and prevented her from going any farther.
“You need to rest, and not worry about Ilene. She is, after all, Sarah’s child.”
The troubled look that glazed his eyes caused worry to rise in her. She had no choice but to obey him once he slipped his arm around her waist and guided her up the staircase. “Stay with Darcy,” he told her.
“You will call me if . . .”
“I will call you if there is a reason. But you have nothing to worry over.” He kissed her cheek and then left the room. She stared at the door as it closed behind him. How cold is his kiss.
Fiona met Hayward at the bottom of the stairs. The wrinkles beside her eyes deepened, her mouth parted, and she bit her lower lip.
“You wish to tell me something, Fiona?”
“Yes, sir. Sometimes women grow sick in body. But sometimes they grow sick in their hearts. It’s what ails Eliza.”
He stared at her a moment. “I have done nothing to cause my wife’s heart to be ill, Fiona. You know that.”
He went past her into the darkness of the hallway that led to his study. He glanced at the clock on the mantle and saw it was nearly nine. The gray sky outside had deepened to pitch. Five minutes later, he heard Sarah crying. Then the door swung open and Fiona stepped inside, her face contorted with sorrow, her eyes moist with tears.
Ilene was gone.
28
Two days later, Hayward walked his horse along a bridle path where hedgerows grew and the trees made a canopy overhead. Reaching the end where it lead to a field, he saw Eliza, a few yards off, sitting on the grass staring at a little mound of red clay. He drew closer, and she finally looked up to see him.
His breath heaved, and his heart seized as if an unseen fist had struck him in the chest. For a moment, it grieved him to see her eyes a torrent of sorrow. Her appearance disturbed him, and he wondered how she could display such emotion for a child not her own flesh, born to a servant and a truant father—unless his suspicions were correct.
A sickening feeling rose in his belly, and he swallowed down the bitter taste in his throat. He slid off the saddle and put out his hand for her to take. She stared at it a moment, then looked away.
“You’ve been gone all morning, Eliza. It is time you come home.”
“A moment more.”
“Come now.” He lifted her up, and she bent her head against the breast of his coat. He drew her back, his hands gripping her shoulders. “What is it about this child that makes you grieve so deeply?”
“Ilene was so young. Now she is with God.”
He released her. “I suppose she is.”
“Do you believe in Heaven that souls are divided into classes?”
His mouth twitched, and his nerves grew taut. He did not like talking about God or Heaven when it came to this. He’d seen men do their worst in battle. Young and old were butchered before his eyes, and to think of Heaven seemed futile to him now. The eyes of the young British soldiers he had killed would never leave him, nor would the horrors of the prison ship. How could a loving God allow so much suffering? How could He take a child from her mother?
“You have no answer?”
“No.”
Eliza gazed at the tilled ground near her feet. “Ilene is in Heaven. So are Addison, and my father and mother. Their rewards shall no doubt be greater than ours.”
“Why? Because they were young, pious, poor, or good?” He clenched his hands into tight fists. “And I suppose he will punish masters, is that what you are saying? You forget how kind I’ve been, Eliza. I have fed and clothed our servants, provided for them, treated them fairly and with mercy. I allowed you to bring Fiona to Maryland. And I could have sent Sarah away, back to whomever she belongs to.”
Shaking her head, Eliza walked slowly toward the hill. Hayward followed her. He was agitated, and his temples pounded. “Your grief over this child must end now.”
She stood stark still and looked as though what he had said had hurt her. “Have you no feelings at all?”
“Yes, Eliza, I do. But you have forgotten Darcy, your own flesh and blood.”
She turned to meet him. “That is not true. I love Darcy.”
“Then show it. She’s been asking for you, and you were nowhere to be found. I ride out here and find you pining away, instead of being at home where you belong. Thank God, no one in the county has seen your behavior.”
At his words, Eliza bowed her head. “You do not understand.”
His jaw clenched. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
“Why can you not accept that as a woman, I have a heart?”
“I do not doubt whether you have a heart. It is your conduct I cannot accept.”
“Is it so wrong to show sorrow for a child I watched grow from an infant, that I fed and clothed the years you were away?”
“It was your duty to clothe and feed her as long as Sarah remained here.”
“Food and clothing are not always enough. Sarah has been abused, treated cruelly by others in her young life. And now this happens to her . . . It pains me to see others suffer.”
He laughed bitter
ly. “You think we should put our needs above those beneath us?”
“We are admonished to do so . . . feed the hungry, clothe the naked, give drink to the thirsty . . . visit those in captivity. It is your choice to do none of these, just as it is your choice to close your heart to a child and refuse to shed one single tear over her death.”
Blood rushed to his face, the burn going deep. He went to his horse, thrust his boot into the stirrup, and hauled himself in the saddle. “Will you ride home with me?”
“I will walk,” she said.
Drawing the reins through his hands, he turned Gareth back toward the hill. His hands shook as he gripped the reins; such was the surge of fury that coursed through him, that urged him to settle this once and for all.
He spurred his horse with his heels, clenched his teeth, and looked up at the sun. How he wished it would blind him from seeing the truth.
When Eliza reached the house, she paused to watch her daughter spin on the swing Addison had made for her.
“Mama, where have you been?”
“Out walking, my darling.”
“Did you go to that place?” Darcy slipped from the seat of the swing.
Eliza smiled lightly and came toward her. “Where, my darling?”
“That place—where Papa put Ilene.”
“I walked there, yes.”
“Will you take me? I can pick wildflowers. Ilene likes them.”
“Not today, Darcy. I am weary.”
Darcy ran to Eliza. She took her hand, entwined soft, delicate fingers within hers, and looked up at Eliza with sparkling eyes. “It’s all right, Mama. I’ll take you inside.”
Shadows lengthened, and the house grew cool. Eliza could not stop thinking about what Hayward had said. She gathered Darcy in her arms and stayed with her until the sun fell behind the mountains and the stars brightened in the night sky. Once Darcy was asleep, Eliza tucked her into bed with her rag doll cradled in her arms. After closing the door, she stepped down the hallway to her room. Despair gripped her nerves, and she sat on the bedside twisting a ribbon between her hands. Hayward had not come to her. She had not seen him since he rode off in a fury. She leaned her head back against a pillow and shut her eyes.
