Fairer than Morning

Advance Praise for
Fairer than Morning

“A novelist to watch! Elliott excels at bringing a by-gone era to life with all of its charm and its flaws. An unhesitating indictment of cruelty and a celebration of the freedom of spirit which can only be found in God.”

— Siri Mitchell,
author of
A Heart Most Worthy

“Rosslyn Elliott weaves a gripping story full of fascinating historical details. She creates realistic and poignant characters who touch your heart with a message of true grace and forgiveness.
Fairer Than Morning
is the kind of book you'll think about long after you read the last page.”

— Jody Hedlund,
best-selling author of
The Preacher's Bride

“
Fairer than Morning
is a fabulous debut! Rosslyn Elliott has not so much written a story, but crafted a tale with a dedication to depth and detail equal to that of the artisan she brings to life. With two very real people at its core, the story unfolds with characters and intrigue reminiscent of a Dickens novel, bringing the reader face-to-face with the heartbreak of bondage and the sweetness of freedom. Rosslyn Elliott is a welcome new voice, almost luxurious. Readers deserve this indulgence.”

— Allison Pittman,
award-winning author of
Stealing
Home
and
Lilies in Moonlight

“
Fairer than Morning
is a book to savor. As you read this exquisitely written story, the present fades and you are drawn into a tale of cruelty, honor, love and deliverance. When you reach the last page you close the book wishing for more. However Rosslyn Elliott's characters will go with you, forever embedded in your heart.”

— Bonnie Leon,
author of
Touching the Clouds
and the Sydney Cove series

  
F
AIRER

  THAN

Morning

Book One

T
HE
S
ADDLER'S
L
EGACY

R
OSSLYN
E
LLIOTT

© 2011 by Rosslyn Elliott

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

Published in association with the literary agency of WordServe Literary Group, Ltd., 10152 S. Knoll Circle, Highlands Ranch, CO 80130.
www.wordserveliterary.com
.

Scripture quotations are taken from the
KING JAMES VERSION.

Thomas Nelson, Inc., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fundraising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

Publisher's Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Elliott, Rosslyn.

     Fairer than morning / Rosslyn Elliott.

        p. cm.— (The saddler's legacy ; bk. 1)

     Includes bibliographical references and index.

     ISBN 978-1-59554-924-2 (trade pbk.)

     1. Indentured servants—Fiction. 2. Fugitive slaves—Fiction. 3. Abolitionists— Fiction. 4. Underground Railroad—Fiction. 5. Pittsburgh (Pa.)—History—19th century—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3605.L4498F35 2011
813'.6—dc22

2011001782

Printed in the United States of America

11 12 13 14 15 RRD 5 4 3 2 1

For all those who never find freedom in this world but will find it in the next

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Afterword

Acknowledgments

Reading Group Guide

About the Author

One

R
USHVILLE,
O
HIO
15th July 1823

P
ROPOSALS OF MARRIAGE SHOULD NOT CAUSE PANIC.
That much she knew.

Eli knelt before her on the riverbank. His cheekbones paled into marble above his high collar. Behind him, the water rushed in silver eddies, dashed itself against the bank, and spiraled onward out of sight. If only she could melt into the water and tumble away with it down the narrow valley.

She clutched the folds of her satin skirt, as the answer she wanted to give him slid away in her jumbled thoughts.

Afternoon light burnished his blond hair to gold. “Must I beg for you? Then I shall.” He smiled. “You know I have a verse for every occasion. ‘Is it thy will thy image should keep open, My heavy eyelids to the weary night? Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?'”

The silence lengthened. His smile faded.

“No.” The single word was all Ann could muster. It sliced the air between them with its awkward sharpness.

He faltered. “You refuse me?”

“I must.”

He released her hand, his eyes wide, his lips parted. After a pause, he closed his mouth and swallowed visibly. “But why?” Hurt flowered in his face.

“We're too young.” The words sounded tinny and false even to her.

“You've said that youth is no barrier to true love. And I'm nineteen.” He rose to his feet, buttoning his cobalt cutaway coat.

“But I'm only fifteen.” Again Ann failed to disguise her hollowness.

She had never imagined a proposal so soon, always assuming it years away, at a safe distance. She should never have told him how she loved the story of Romeo and Juliet. Only a week ago she had called young marriage romantic, as she and Eli sat close to one another on that very riverbank, reading the parts of the lovers in low voices.

“There is some other reason.” In his mounting indignation, he resembled a blond avenging angel. “What is it? Is it because I did not ask your father first?”

“You should have asked him, but even so, he would not have consented. Father will not permit me to marry until I am eighteen.”

“Eighteen? Three years?” His eyes were the blue at the center of a candle flame. “Then you must change his mind. I cannot wait.” He slid his hands behind her elbows and pulled her close. His touch aligned all her senses to him like nails cleaving to a magnet. With an effort, she twisted from his grasp and shook her head.

His brow creased and he looked away as if he could not bear the sight of her. “I think it very callous of you to refuse me without the slightest attempt to persuade your father.”

“I do not think he will change his mind. He has been very clear.”

“Then perhaps you should have been—clearer—yourself.” His faint sarcasm stung her, as if a bee had crawled beneath the lace of her bodice.

He dropped his gaze. “You would not give up so easily if you cared. You have deceived me, Ann.”

He turned and walked up the riverbank, the white lining flashing from the gore of his coat over his boot tops. Before she could even call out, he topped the ridge and disappeared from view.

She stared blankly after him. She was so certain that the Lord had intended Eli to be her husband. But that once-distant future had arrived too early, and now it lay in ruins.

Numb, she collected the history and rhetoric books that she had dropped on the grass. She must change her father's mind, as Eli had said. If she did not, all was lost.

She clutched the books to her like a shield and began the long walk home.

In front of the farmhouse, her two young sisters crouched in the grass in their flowered frocks. Mabel pointed her chubby little finger at an insect on the ground. Susan brushed back wispy strands of light-brown hair and peered at it.

“Have you seen Father?” Ann asked them.

Their soft faces turned toward her.

“He's in the workshop.” Mabel's voice was high and pure and still held a trace of her baby lisp. She turned back to inspect the grass.

“He said he is writing a sermon and please not to disturb him,” Susan added with the panache of an eight-year-old giving orders.

Without comment, Ann angled toward the barn, which held the horses and also a workshop for her father's saddle and harness business. Like most circuit riders, he did not earn his living from his ministry, and so he crafted sermons and saddles at the same workbench.

He glanced up when the wooden door slapped against its frame behind her.

“Ann.” His clean-shaven face showed the wear of his forty years, though his posture was vigorous and his constitution strong from hours of riding and farm work. “I asked Susan to let you know I was writing.” There was no blame in his voice. He had always been gentle with them, and even more so since their mother had passed away.

“She did. But I must speak with you.”

“You seem perturbed.” He laid down his quill and turned around in his chair. “Will you sit down?”

“No, thank you.” She clasped her hands in front of her and pressed them against her wide sash to steady herself as she took a quick breath. “Eli Bowen proposed to me today.”

“Without asking my blessing?” A small line appeared between his brows. “And what did you tell him?”

“That I cannot marry until I am eighteen. That you have forbidden it.”