by RITA GERLACH
An hour later, there was a rap on the door. “Eliza. Open the door, my girl. Let me in. I need to speak to you . . . Please.”
Eliza rose up from the soft coverlet she lay upon, pushed the heavy spirals of her hair from off her forehead, and went to the door. Fiona stepped inside and set her candle down on the table. She looked over at the carpetbag and the heap of clothes sitting on the bed.
“What are you doing, my girl?” An urgency marked Fiona’s voice and expression.
“I cannot stay here.” Eliza shoved a dress into the bag.
“You are leaving because of those women? Ignore them.”
“Perhaps what they called me is true.”
“No. It was cruel. Do not leave on their account. I could not bear it. Think of Mr. Brennan and young Ethan.”
“I am thinking of you and them,” Eliza said. “I’ll not bring any more embarrassment to Mr. Brennan, and I’ll not have you clinging to the child in me that you once knew.” She tossed her horsehair brush into the bag. “You all deserve to be left alone, to live a peaceful life.”
Fiona stopped Eliza’s busy hands. “You know it will hurt me. But you will hurt Mr. Brennan and Ethan as well.”
Eliza shook her head.
“Mr. Brennan understands grace and mercy, and that we all have fallen short in our lives before God. He understands forgiveness. Do you not see the agonizing guilt he has lived with, that he could not save the lives of his wife and baby? Then you came along—he told me you were his saving grace. He does not expect perfection.”
With Fiona’s hands on her shoulders, Eliza looked into her eyes, her own filling with tears. She knew what Fiona said rang true. But she’d left out one thing. Eliza’s reputation had spread from Havendale through the countryside. She could not ask Mr. Brennan to sacrifice his own for her. She would not let him.
“I will not be the cause of Mr. Brennan’s good name being dragged through the mire, Fiona.” She turned away and closed the clasp on her bag.
The sound caused Fiona to moan. “I will tell him.” And she headed to the door.
Eliza grabbed her arm. “You will not. I have never ordered you to do anything in my life. But I will now. You will not tell him.”
Tears glistened in Fiona’s eyes, and her parted lips trembled.
“Forgive me for being abrupt. But you mustn’t say a word.”
“It will break his heart. You know that?”
Eliza hung her head. “I do. But he and Ethan shall forget me soon enough.”
“I doubt it, my girl. Moments ago, he told me that his heart ached for what just happened, and that he saw Mr. Langbourne speaking to you. He wanted to come upstairs and have a word, but I advised him to leave you be for a time. You need to go downstairs and speak to him.”
“I need to go somewhere where no one knows me,” Eliza said. “I have saved enough of my wages to live on for a short time until I find employment.”
“I cannot let you go . . . not without me.”
Grieved to see her old friend so upset, Eliza put her palms upon Fiona’s cheeks. “Then promise me you will say nothing to Mr. Brennan.”
Fiona nodded. “Oh, it seems wrong, but I will do as you ask.”
“Are you strong enough to do this?”
“I crossed the ocean, my girl, and walked all the way to Fairview to find you. If I can do that, I can do this.”
A full moon hung in the sky that night, and owls hooted to one another in the trees. By candlelight, Eliza penned a letter to Mr. Brennan.
Dear Sir,
By the time you read this letter, I will be gone. You have given me no cause to quit Fairview, and it grieves me to leave this place where I have found healing and peace, and a dear friendship with you and Ethan. I shall always be indebted to you for saving my life that day you found me, for giving me a position in your household, and for showing me God’s love is greater than my faults.
Please understand that as long as I live among people who know my past, I will bring shame and embarrassment to you. I shall find a place where no one knows me, and where I can begin anew. God willing, I shall someday find my way back to my darling Darcy. Until then, pray for me, and forgive me for leaving Fairview in this way. I had not the courage to tell you face to face.
With gratitude,
Eliza
She folded the letter, dripped the sealing wax upon it, pressed the wax firmly, and inscribed his name on the front.
Then she stood up in the gown she had worn the day she set foot back on English soil. After she drew on her cloak, she picked up her bag and closed the door to her room. She went down the servants’ stairs and slipped out a side door. Before the scarlet dawn could break, she reached the end of the lane and looked back at Fairview with a heavy heart. All the windows were dark. But the moon streaked the glass and glazed the facade.
She turned away and walked on. Before her stretched a road dimly lit by moonlight. Crickets chirped in the weeds alongside it, and the stillness frightened her. Had she made the right decision? Or had she sentenced herself to a life of dire poverty?
When Mr. Brennan rose from a restless night, he went downstairs to his study and drew back the curtains. Sunlight dazzled his eyes, and he paused to admire the green fields and the budding trees. After a moment’s pause, he noted his house seemed unusually quiet. Not a creak on the floor above. No smell of coffee wafted in the morning air. Not a hint of what would be served for breakfast. He had hoped for a large one— eggs and English sausages, creamy porridge, and biscuits.
Roscoe mewed and weaved around Brennan’s legs. “Ah, you are hungry too. It appears everyone is still asleep. Not even a mouse for you to catch.” He crossed the room and went out into the foyer. He called Fiona. No one answered. Then he strode back to the kitchen and saw that the coals in the hearth were gray, cold ash.
A frown creased his brow, and he left to go up the stairs. Down the corridor, past his room, to a shorter flight of stairs he went. A slow trickle of dread stirred within him as he climbed.
He rapped on Fiona’s door first, opened it, and looked inside to an empty room. His anxiety grew stronger. Raising his fist, he knocked on Eliza’s door twice. And when no one answered, he turned the door handle and stepped in. The curtains over the windows fluttered, and a breeze blew through the open window. He flung open the doors to her armoire. Empty. He went to her dressing table. Her brush and comb—missing.
And there lay Eliza’s letter.
This time dread reached a breaking point. He snatched up the letter in his hands and stared at it. Had he been wrong about her? His pulse pounded as he broke the seal and unfolded the pages. It had been years since he last cried, when Emily died with their baby girl. His hands shook as he read Eliza’s letter, and that old, familiar pain of loss twisted inside him.
After he finished reading—once he had comprehended her words—he pressed his fist against his eyes and shoved the letter into his pocket. He paced the floor and then fell to his knees. His locked fingers turned white.
“Help me, God. Show me what to do. Must I be deprived of her as well? She has become a daughter to me, a sister, a close friend. I am too old to ask for her love, and I would not, for she is wedded. But the husband who should care for her is not here. Allow me to take care of Eliza. I pledge I shall do right, Lord God.”
He got to his feet and dragged himself to her window. And as he pulled down the latch, he spotted Fiona out on the lane. She trudged along at an anxious pace with her hands clasped at her breast. She stopped, turned full circle, and seemed confused.
Bewildered, Brennan hurried away from the window. Through shadow and light, he rushed downstairs and out his front door. Moving at a sprint, he called out to Fiona. She looked toward him, pale and terrified, and stood stark still, her hands still clutching the edge of her cloak.
“Where is Eliza? And why are you out here?”
Worry filled her eyes. “Oh, Mr. Brennan.” The words caught in her throat, and she began to weep.
>
“What has happened? She is not in her room, and I cannot find her inside the house.”
“She made me promise not to tell you, sir. She told me she could not allow your good name to be dragged through the mire or to see you humiliated. I was certain she would change her mind. Bear it with all forgiveness, if you can.”
“Forgiveness for not telling me, yes. But bearing it, I cannot do if you are about to tell me she has gone.”
On the last word, Fiona went silent and gazed at Brennan with sorrow. He turned away. How could Eliza have done this? She had to have known he’d not allow any word against her to stand.
Fiona moved up to him. “I begged her not to go, sir, but she could not be persuaded.”
He nodded. “She has a strong will, I know.”
“She agreed to take me with her, but when I woke at daybreak, the time we had set to steal away, I found a letter slipped under my door from her. I panicked and went down the road as far as I could. Then I grew afraid I might lose my way and came back to get your help.”
Brennan stared forward. “She left me a letter as well.”
“She’s out there alone, sir.”
Distraught, Brennan wrung his hands. “Foolish Eliza,” he muttered. “Foolish, foolish Eliza.”
Fiona’s face flooded with desperation. “What shall we do, sir?”
The fear in his heart tugged harder. He imagined her treading down a road alone with little money to sustain her for long. “Where did she say she would go?”
“To a place where no one knows her, and then she hopes to sail back to Maryland, to Darcy. I can assure you, sir, Hayward Morgan has seen to it that she will not see the child. He will let her live in poverty and shame, even prison, if she should make any attempt.”
Silver layers of sunlight entered the forest nearby, and then sunk from the heavens. A southern wind rose, rustled limb and vine, and whipped across the fields into the lane. “I will saddle my horse. I put my son in your charge, Fiona, until I’ve returned with Eliza.”
Brennan rushed to the stable and pulled his horse out of its stall to saddle him. Shoving his boot into the stirrup, he swung up onto the horse’s back, held him with a firm grip on the reins, nudged him with his knees, and galloped off at a violent pace to find a wayward soul.
36
When the sky threatened rain, Eliza drew the hood of her cloak over her dark hair and trudged on. Not a soul confronted her along the way, for the road remained desolate for miles. Thirsty, she paused upon the bank of a stream that purled down a slope. She sat in the moss, removed her glove, and dipped her hand into the cold water. It tasted sweet and reminded her of her river so far away and the child left behind.
“I am tired, Lord. But I must find my way.” She gazed up at the clusters of leaves above her. She thought about her father. What he would tell her to do, and what he would think, to see her sitting beside a stream, all alone?
A verse he had read to her many times came back to her, and she whispered it. “Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your souls.”
Minutes later, clouds subdued the sun. She stood, brushed off her cloak, and glanced around her. Which way to the road? Her bearings lost, she passed through the woods. They grew thicker, darker, and the wind murmured louder than the birds that sang. She looked for the sun and determined another way. Fretful moments went by until she spotted the road at the bottom of the hill.
With care, she sidestepped down the slope, slipped, regained her footing, and trudged on. As the light waned, she pondered what she would do for the night. If she could find a kind farmer who would allow her his barn and a bed of hay, she’d be grateful.
Not far from the stream, she recognized the path that led away from the road, where the land opened up to grass-covered downs. Eliza gazed at the expanse of land before her, the rocks and heath, the sheep grazing in the distance, then beyond, to the place where she had grown up and Mr. Brennan had ministered until tragedy struck his life. She had to see it for herself, what was once a happier place, now a charred remnant of the past. The silence seemed unearthly, the dusky light so solemn she was filled with a sense of awe.
In her mind, she envisioned the horrid scene—smoldering beams, blackened stone, and tongues of flame. All that remained were the smoke-marred limestone walls and the glassless windows of what had once been a house where the Word of God was loved and reverenced, where care for the poor in body and soul were a way of life, where families had supped, laughed, and cried together.
Were the tears in her eyes brought on from the wind? Dull, sick revolt gripped her belly, and her head ached. No longer could she try to imagine what Mr. Brennan had faced that terrible day, what unbearable agony had consumed him. Oh, his unfortunate wife and baby. Poor, poor Ethan, to have them not.
Sorrowful, she headed back down the path above the downs to the road. The quiet that permeated the land broke of a sudden when she heard the trot of a horse drawing near. She stepped off the road into a thicket and there backed up against the trunk of a large tree. The rider came on, and she saw his face and a pair of keen and urgent eyes.
For a moment, she stood stark still with her hands at her breast. His horse pricked its ears and slowed. Brennan pulling on the reins, waited, and listened. He had come all this way in search of her. How could she stay hidden and not face the man? Away from the tree, she came forward and stood alongside the road before him. Arms at her side, the tendrils of her hair lifted in the breeze. His horse sidestepped, and he steadied him. Then he dismounted and walked toward her.
Pity for her showed in his eyes. About his shoulders hung his hair, damp from the ride, clinging to his forehead. “Eliza. What do you mean by running away like this?”
Feeling ashamed, she lowered her eyes, bit her lower lip, and forced herself not to cry. “I . . .”
“Eliza, look at me.” He came closer, and she obeyed him. “Do you really want to leave us? Is running away the answer? Will it end scrutiny, judgment, and rejection from others? I have done none of those things to you. I have accepted you as you are, and loved you—even now when you have left me, thinking it will somehow save me, when all it will do is destroy me.”
“I do not want to hurt you, or Ethan, or Fiona,” she murmured.
“Then you must see God brought us together—two people with broken hearts, both of us losing a mate and a child. I love you, Eliza, no matter your past or your future. I want to grow old knowing I have my companion, my friend, at my side, to have and to hold until I die.”
His words grieved her. “How? You are a man of faith. You cannot . . .”
“I can,” he interrupted with haste. “We will live out our lives quietly at Fairview, you and I, Fiona and Ethan. Come back with me, Eliza. We are your family now. If I have to beg, I will do it.”
Her hair blew across her eyes, and she brushed it back. Hayward wanted a wife to build his estate and legacy, whether it was she or Miss Marsden or someone else. It did not matter. At one time, she had believed he loved her. But his love had been conditional. As for Langbourne, he wanted her out of pride, vengeance, and lust. She had rejected him, and shocked him into seeing her as a challenge. And how cruelly he would have treated her if she had accepted him.
Brennan looked past the violet eyes and raven hair to a place no other had seen. He treated her as an equal, and he understood spiritual things, the Lord’s quickness to forgive, the sacrifice for her sin and his. He’d brought her beauty for ashes, joy for tears. Is this not what she had longed for? To be loved for who she was, not what she was?
Through his expression he pleaded with her, then held out his hand. His warm eyes bid her come home, and at that moment, Eliza knew what love really meant. She saw in him understanding, sacrifice, patience, and forgiveness, gracing a man who had been broken and imperfect.
She took the hand he offered, and she was shielded against wind and rain, safe at last.
; “ ‘He sent from above, he took me, he drew me out of many waters,’ ” Brennan said. “You are not lost, Eliza, nor forsaken. Tell me you believe that.”
“I do. More than anything I have believed in my life.”
“Then let us leave this grim place. I have no doubt Fiona will have supper on the table for us, and Ethan will be waiting impatiently by the door.”
He climbed into the saddle and lifted her up behind him. In silence, they rode homeward. She did not look back to the ruins, nor to the south where far away the sea met the shores of Cornwall. Instead, she turned her face toward Fairview.
Discussion Questions
How did you feel when Eliza lost her father and brother, and was turned out of her home by Mr. Morgan?
What expectations did you have for Eliza when Hay-ward agreed to wed her?
Do you believe people can have an immediate connection to each other like Eliza had with Hayward?
Did Eliza make the right choice in marrying Hayward? How different would her life have been if she had married Langbourne instead?
What were Eliza’s character strengths and weaknesses?
What were Hayward’s character strengths and weaknesses?
Was Sarah’s choice to raise Ilene as her child made out of love for Eliza and wanting to protect her, or was it for another reason?
Why was Hayward unable to forgive Eliza?
How did you feel about Eliza and Mr. Brennan being close friends without it being a romantic relationship?
What were some of the spiritual themes of this book, and what did they mean to you?
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