Fairer than Morning

by Rosslyn Elliott

  “You are glad you did it?”

  He did not reply. She feared she had pried into his feelings. But with his eyes on the mules’ backs, he spoke. “Yes. I would do it again. I will do it again.”

  “It is dangerous work.” She could not dismiss a trickle of dismay, the same feeling that went through her each time her father rode away from the farm. Did they not worry they might be injured, imprisoned, or otherwise kept from those who needed them?

  “Nothing worth doing will be easy.” He flicked his eyes at her, and she saw something flaring in their depths before he turned back to face the road.

  “What do you mean?”

  Now he clamped his mouth shut and did not answer. She was too curious of his exact meaning to be put off.

  “What won’t be easy?”

  Reluctantly, he replied, “Serving those who need help.” She could not see his eyes, but the tightness in his voice told her that his heart was full.

  She watched him for a moment before turning to look at her sisters. From the corner of her eye, she could see the curve of his shoulder as he adjusted the reins and sat up straighter.

  So he did intend to help fugitives, as her father did. How strong his sense of mercy must be, to survive such abuse and scorn as his former master had heaped on him and still want to ease the sufferings of others. Her sympathy rushed out to him like an invisible cord connecting them, even as they sat three feet apart. She was sure that he must feel it as well.

  “Hullo! Mr. Miller!” A call came from behind the curve they had just rounded. Hoofbeats pattered out of sight, then grew louder as a horse came into sight around the trees.

  Eli.

  He cantered up behind them, then trotted up by Ann at the side of the wagon.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Miller.” He reined the gelding to a walk and tipped his hat to Ann. “Girls.” When he did the same for Susan and Mabel, Mabel giggled with hero worship in her eyes and clutched her sister’s elbow.

  Will glanced back at Eli, but neither of the young men addressed each other.

  “I wondered if you might like to ride this afternoon.” Eli looked down at Ann, a smile rounding his high cheekbones into boyish appeal. “Will you come with me?”

  “I don’t know if my father will need me at home—”

  “Then I will ask him.” He grinned and spurred his gelding to a brisk trot. When he reached Bayberry and Mr. Miller, he slowed again to a walk. Their hats bobbed as they spoke words Ann could not catch. After a minute or two, both men halted in the road.

  “Whoa!” Will called, reining in the mules. As the wagon rolled to a halt, her father dismounted and led Bayberry back to the wagon.

  “Mr. Bowen would like to ride with you, so I told him it would be best if you went now for a short ride and then joined us in half an hour at the house.”

  “Father, don’t you need me to help put the house in order?” She adjusted the lay of her skirt on the wagon boards to avoid Eli’s gaze.

  “We will manage. I don’t want to disappoint a young man who rode in such haste to catch you.” Her father’s face remained straight, though his tone was arch.

  Will seemed to be ignoring the whole business from the driver’s seat.

  “Very well.” She stood. Her father maneuvered Bayberry close to the wagon, and as carefully as she could, she sat backward on the saddle and turned to hook her right leg over the pommel, skirt and all. Modesty preserved, she gathered the reins and clucked to Bayberry, squeezing with her left leg where it hung down by the girth. The mare swung into a walk, and Ann urged her toward Eli’s gelding.

  “We’ll move on ahead, Mr. Miller.” Eli tipped his hat to her father, then looked over at Ann. “Shall we canter?”

  She nodded. Eli’s gelding took off up the road, its silver shoes flashing. Herd instinct prompted Bayberry to follow. After a few bouncing strides of trot, the mare broke into a smooth canter. Gripping both horns with her legs, Ann gave the mare some rein without allowing her to open into a gallop.

  They left the wagon far behind, and then Eli turned up the road that led along the top of the valley. Below them sunlight glanced from the surface of the creek so it sparkled like a diamond necklace winding through the trees in the river bottom. Eli slowed to a trot, then to a walk. Ann cued Bayberry to slow as well, as the steep bank was too close for a fast pace here. The breeze was picking up; it stirred her hair and even chilled her a little through the thin fabric of her blue bodice.

  “You look beautiful.” Eli turned toward her. “Your hair turns the richest color in the light.”

  She stared straight ahead between Bayberry’s ears, abashed by his intense regard.

  “Did you enjoy your stay with the Sumners?” he asked.

  “Yes, very much.” A diffusion in the light made her look up. The clouds rolled swiftly across the sky, white fluffy mounds running ahead of gray storm clouds that threatened to swallow them from the south. This did not look promising.

  Eli had followed her upward glance and was watching the clouds himself. “This blasted weather. One can never count on it.”

  The horses walked with spring in their steps; horses always knew when rain was on the way. Bayberry danced sideways as a low-hanging branch blew toward Ann. She swayed in the saddle but tightened her knee grip and kept her seat.

  Eli’s brow wrinkled. “Does Bayberry shy often?”

  “Hardly ever, but the winds bother her sometimes.”

  “Let’s dismount, then. I can’t have you falling from a wild mustang.” He swung his leg back over the saddle and dropped lightly to the ground. His shiny Hessian boots made his legs look very strong in their close-fitting trousers.

  He tied his gelding’s reins to a sapling by the path. This was not standard practice, tying reins, as a horse could snap them or injure its head, but she knew Eli needed his hands free to help her.

  He walked back and took hold of Bayberry’s head with one hand. “Can you extricate yourself?”

  She unhooked her knee and dismounted. Her skirt caught on the leaping horn and made a ripping noise before it gave way and dropped her into Eli’s arms.

  He did not release her right away. Instead he lowered his head and gently kissed her. Her head swam and she wanted to lean into his kiss, but she pulled back. He would not think well of her. Women were not to allow too much liberty to their suitors, and she had already allowed him to kiss her once before.

  She steadied her breathing and made a show of looking at the back of her skirt. Thank goodness there was no visible tear. It must have been her petticoat that ripped.

  “Shall we walk them back?” Eli extended Bayberry’s reins to her, and she took them. As she did so he caught her hand in his and held it.

  “I can’t wait any longer.” He took off his hat, threw it to one side, and knelt in the path, charming her with his lack of care for his pristine trousers. “Will you be my bride, Ann Miller? You’re the most beautiful girl I know, both outside and in. I love you with a passion.” He searched her face and jumped to his feet, reaching for her and crushing her to him. Her breath left her as she felt his warmth and unfamiliar masculine body through their clothing. He kissed her urgently, depriving her of the ability to think.

  Lightning flashed over the trees and a thunderclap echoed it. The reins jerked in her hand, which was now wound around Eli’s side. In a second, she had lost her grip. She tore herself away from Eli as Bayberry half-reared, presented her haunches to them, and bolted back down the path toward home. The gelding jerked his head so the leather reins strained, then snapped. He staggered back and pivoted on his hocks to gallop after the mare.

  Ann saw her dismay mirrored on Eli’s face. Not only would they risk losing their mounts, but the gelding’s snapped reins would make it obvious that they had dismounted and tied their horses. People might assume the worst.

  A droplet touched Ann’s hand, then another. She saw them falling like tiny needles in the increasing gloom. As they stood gazing at the receding horse
s, the rain came in earnest. In the downpour, Eli ran for his hat and returned to grab her hand and head for home. A true spring drenching. His fine-boned face was slick with rain, and her hair was totally soaked, hanging in wet tendrils on her neck, one damp lock plastered down the side of her face.

  “How can we go back like this?” She stopped.

  “Engaged,” he said. He gently pulled her toward him. Her indignation vanished at the sheer romance of being there in the rain with him, the water running down her neck into her sodden dress, pouring down Eli’s face as he bent his head and sheltered her as best he could. He whispered right in her ear. “Marry me, please, Ann.”

  She wanted to say yes and be done with the decision. But an insistent prodding from her more rational self would not let her. “I can’t think,” she said in a louder voice. “This is no time to answer a proposal.” She turned and marched down the road, trying vainly to shield her face from the rain. She heard the splash of his footsteps as he followed. He would have to wait, like it or not. She was not the heroine of a Gothic romance; she would not answer while she was swept away by storms, without and within.

  Now they would have to hope her father would trust that no compromise had taken place, despite unseemly appearances. She hurried on into the rain.

  “What I fail to understand,” her father said, “is why you did not accept his proposal.”

  Eli was gone, having left for home as soon as he deposited Ann on her doorstep. He had apologized to her father, assuring him, red-faced, that she had “come to no harm.”

  She stood in her wringing wet clothes, her skirt dripping and forming an arc of water in front of her toes. “How did you know he proposed?” She avoided his question with her own.

  “He told me, on the road before the two of you rode off together. I assumed you would have told me had you accepted. So why did you not?”

  Ann saw half of Mabel’s face peeping around the corner of the hallway where it opened on the parlor. “Mabel, go to your room.” The little eye and nose disappeared.

  She wrung out her sleeves where they hung from her wrists, limp with water. “Father, I did not think I was in the proper frame of mind to consider it.”

  Turning to the cedar chest, her father plucked the folded old quilt from atop it and shook it out, wrapping it around her shoulders. “You know I regret the pain he caused you,” he said. “But it seems he still appeals to you as a suitor. I will give you my blessing, if you are certain he is a good man and the kind of man to whom you wish to yoke your future. I encourage you to accept him, if your estimation and affection for him remain strong and true.”

  She reached for the edges of the quilt to keep it in place and sat down by the hearth. “I’m considering it, Father.” She hunched under the quilt and let the fire warm her right side. Why was it so difficult to be certain?

  “I have some news for you.” He moved across the rag rug and sat beside her on the other corner of the stone hearth. “I’m going back to Pittsburgh in a few days.”

  She waited for the shock to wear off so she could speak again. “Why?”

  “Will does not feel he can stay here as long as Master Good is searching for him. I agree with him. So we have determined to go back to Pittsburgh and pay off his indenture.”

  She said nothing, the possibilities whirling in her head. Master Good was capable of anything. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Ann.” His tone was exasperated. “We have just been through a very long journey. It is too expensive and too arduous for you girls to travel back with us.”

  She did not like it, but there was only one solution. “Then they can stay with Mrs. Sumner again, and I will come with you.” She did not know why she was afraid to stay behind this time. She knew everything would be fine at the Sumners. But the thought of watching Will and her father ride away without her was completely unacceptable.

  “Then I will strike an even harder bargain with you for this journey,” her father said. “If I allow you to come with us, you must accept that young man’s proposal without delay when we return. Provided that you want him, of course. You must make a decision that will give you a future. You cannot stay on the farm forever—you would be throwing away your happiness. I won’t allow it.”

  Brilliant! She would now be able to put off her answer to Eli even further. Perhaps some solution for her sisters would come to her. She would gain at least an extra three weeks. It was a godsend.

  “Agreed,” she said with only a trace of guilt. She would explain it to Eli. She would tell him she was sure she cared for him, but she needed to make sure her father had an apprentice if she were to even consider leaving the farm. Thus, she needed to see Will’s case settled. And she felt she owed it to the apprentice to lend her support, given what she knew of his former master.

  As she thought through her explanation, it all made sense to her. That was why she wanted so desperately to go with them.

  Thirty-Four

  SHE THUMPED THE MAN’S HEAD WITH THE LOG. HE fell soundlessly into the snow, facedown. There was no visible mark upon him, but a scarlet circle bled outward into the whiteness like a diabolical halo. She looked up, still clutching the log. Her mother stood in front of her, and her face grew old at an impossible rate, furrows dragging her skin downward, her hair graying to a silver mist.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. Her mother turned and shuffled away through the snow.

  “Don’t go!” Ann called after her, her voice thick with tears.

  She dropped the log and stood. A pain in her hands made her turn them palm upward. They were smeared with blood, which dripped down through her fingers and fell like crimson rain into the snow below her.

  She opened her eyes. Her hands were curled toward her in the bed, her legs drawn up under the covers as if she huddled for protection. Leaden sadness pressed her down, making her limbs heavy and useless, as if she were not in control of her body but only an observer trapped deep inside it.

  She took a breath and broke the dream’s spell, finding herself once more capable of motion. She pushed herself up to a sitting position. The sadness remained, but she was accustomed to it after so many nights of similar dreams. She would go to her pre-dawn chores and work hard, and the hollow inside her would fill up with the business of the morning. They were to depart for Pittsburgh in only four days. There was still much to prepare in order to leave the farm in the care of the Murdochs.

  She pulled on her work dress. With Will on the farm, she could no longer work in men’s trousers, no matter how convenient it might be. She wrapped herself in her coat and walked down the hallway in the darkness to exit the house. Her family was sleeping, as they did not have to rise until dawn. If only she did not wake so early. She would be glad for an extra hour of sleep, but her spirit did not accept rest after such violent imaginary upheavals.

  The barn was quiet. She grabbed a pitchfork from the wall, but it was too dim to see the floor inside the stalls. She retrieved the lantern and lit it with the flint, steel, and tinderbox on the shelf inside the door. She brought the lantern to the center of the barn and hung it from the long ceiling hook to prepare for her work.

  Armed again with the pitchfork, she slid back the bolt on Bayberry’s stall and opened it. The stall was clean. That was odd. And Bayberry was munching hay. The cows had already been fed as well. Her father was still asleep, so it must have been Will. How early had he risen? Perhaps he had gone back to bed in the cabin after his work. She smiled. It was good to have help. Now she could see to her other tasks. Yesterday’s hard rain had left the ground moist and soft. It would be a perfect time to plant the beans and peas in the kitchen garden.

  With a quick puff she blew out the lantern. She left the animals to their morning meal and picked up a hoe from the collection of tools on her way out. She carried it across the yard, but let it fall in the dark soil outside the kitchen and continued up the stoop.

  Inside the kitchen, the seeds for the spring planting were safe in a few bot
tles on the top shelf of the hutch. She fetched two bottles and pulled out the corks that kept the seeds dry. With one in each hand, she descended the stairs again and set them carefully by the foundation of the house before picking up the hoe again.

  She opened the little gate of the small picket fence that enclosed the kitchen garden. With free-roaming pigs all over the woods and fields, a barrier had to protect the garden’s delicacies from their greedy snouts.

  She raised the hoe and plunged it into the ground. The iron bit deep into the soil with each blow, turning over the flat surface into chunks of sod that would accept the seed readily. The usual hard labor of hoeing was not quite as arduous after the rain. And there was just enough early light here in the open air to allow her to see her work.

  She had turned over half a row. Her stiff arms warmed and her breathing quickened, sending new blood coursing through her sleep-dulled body. Now she was truly awake, though she could have wished for a little more strength. Hoeing on an empty stomach was not ideal, but she did not want to breakfast without her family. She would finish two rows of beans and two of peas, and then go make preparations for the morning meal.

  She lifted the hoe. Thunk. She lifted it again.

  “Would you like some help?”

  She started. Behind her, Will approached, carrying a load of small sticks. He walked past her to deposit his collection by the kitchen stoop.

  “Yes, I would be glad of some assistance,” she said. No need to ask where he had been. He must have been gathering kindling in the woods after finishing his work in the barn.

  He came in through the gate behind her. Ann stood the hoe on its end and poked the handle toward him.

  He took it and hefted it in one hand. “How long would you like the rows? To the end of the fence?”

  “Yes, please. I will come after you and seed.”

  He shrugged out of the coat that Mr. Miller had given him and folded it over the white fence. Beneath it, he wore a shirt and suspenders. She was glad to see it, for if he could wear straps over his back, his wounds had completely healed.