Forsaken Dreams (24 page)

Forgive her? Blake fingered the five black bands circling his arm. How could he forgive any Yankee for what they’d done?

His thoughts drifted to Lieutenant Harkins, who had rushed to him from the battle of Antietam—blood splattered across his uniform, eyes wild from the insanities of war—to tell Blake of his brother’s death. Wounded, Jeremy had lain on the battlefield after the hostilities had ended while Union soldiers scavenged for valuables among the dead. Rebel doctors also wove among the injured, attending to those who could be saved. But they hadn’t made it to Jeremy in time before one particularly vile Union officer ran his injured brother through with his sword.

All for a gold pocket watch the lad refused to give him.

Blake knew that watch. Their father had given it to Jeremy when he enlisted. It had been their grandfather’s, who’d fought in the War of 1812, and his father’s before him, who’d fought in the Revolutionary War. A good luck piece, since neither had died in battle.

Oh Jeremy, why didn’t you just give it to him?

The thud of a boat against the hull jarred Blake from his nightmare. Orders and commotion filtered down from above. Hayden poked his head inside the cabin. “Parson Bailey’s gone missing.”

Setting his injured leg on the deck, Blake rose, ignored the pain, and headed for the door. “I will never forgive you, Mrs. Crawford. Or any Yankee.”

C
HAPTER
17

B
lake stormed out of the sick bay, leaving a trail of loathing in his wake that sent Eliza reeling backward. Fighting back tears, she picked up the basin of bloody rags and placed it on the table. She would prefer to stay below and clean up, away from the scorn and hatred of everyone above, but Hayden’s statement that something had happened to Parson Bailey spurred her to wash her hands and follow Blake.

The arc of a golden sun dipped behind palms, flinging glistening jewels over the bay. A breeze cooled the perspiration on Eliza’s brow and neck as she emerged from below. Passengers and crew mobbed the deck, encircling something in the center. Hayden and Blake shoved through them, and Eliza followed to find the sailors who had accompanied Parson Bailey in search of water. One of them leaned against the mast, holding a bloody rag to his head. Clutching her skirts, she started toward him, but his eyes, as sharp as black darts, halted her.

“What is she still doing here?” Mr. Scott straightened the jeweled pin on his embroidered waistcoat, his voice incredulous. “The colonel appears well enough to me.”

“Aye, I thought she was long gone,” a sailor said.

Blake limped to stand beside the captain. “She tended my wound. And now she’ll tend Mr. Simmons.” He leveled a pointed gaze at the man in question. “Unless he prefers his injury to putrefy and rot his brain.”

The sailor’s face blanched, and he beckoned Eliza forward with his eyes.

“What happened?” Blake asked.

Captain Barclay scratched his gray beard. “Seems our parson struck Simmons over the head and took off.”

“Yep, that’s what he did,” another sailor added. He pointed to the man standing beside him. “George and I was”—he cleared his throat—“well, we was relievin’ ourselves when we heard Simmons yell out. When we found him, he was on the ground moaning, and the parson was gone.”

Eliza inched toward Mr. Simmons, making no sense of their story. Lifting the bloody cloth, she peered at the swollen knot atop his head. Nothing too serious, though she should clean it and apply a poultice as soon as possible.

“Is that true, Simmons?” the captain asked.

“Aye, Cap’n. I sat down on a tree trunk to rest a spell, and the next thing I know, I’m waking up to these two ugly mugs swirling in me vision.” He gestured toward the other sailors with a chuckle. “And the parson is nowheres to be found.”

“Perhaps he was taken by natives,” Hayden offered.

“But why wouldn’t they take all of us? And they didn’t take our barrels or weapons. Don’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Blake shifted his weight. Pain clouded his features, but at least no blood appeared on the bandage around his leg.

James huffed. “And we still have no water.”

“We found a creek.” The sailor’s eyes lit up beneath a brow furrowed with sweat and sand. “We can get water tomorrow.”

“Aye.” Captain Barclay planted his hands at his waist and squinted at the setting sun. “At first light, we’ll search for the parson and gather water.” He glanced toward the men still hammering in the yards. “Repairs will be finished tomorrow, and we need to get sailin’. I’ve wasted enough time as it is. There’s cargo in New Orleans waitin’ for me to pick it up after I drop your colony off in Brazil.”

“We can’t just leave the parson here.” Angeline spoke from her spot across the deck, drawing curious gazes her way.

“Yes we can, miss.” Captain Barclay’s tone bore neither rancor nor sympathy. “Especially if he struck my man here.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” Sunlight glinted gold in Dodd’s wavy hair—most likely the only gold he’d ever find. “He could have been kidnapped. Why, when I was a sheriff in Richmond, I dealt with many a kidnapping. There was one in par—”

“We didn’t hear no struggle or no screamin’.” The sailor crossed his beefy arms over his chest.

“An’ we saw no one else there,” the first sailor said.

“What about
her
?” Graves stroked his black goatee and gestured toward Eliza.

Her breath caught in her throat as all eyes speared her with a scorn so real, she felt its punctures in her chest.

“I need to bandage this man’s wound,” she squeaked out, frustrated that terror revealed itself in her voice.

Blake stepped forward. “We need her. She’s the only person on board who can tend to our sick and injured.” He pointed to his wounded leg. “Are you willing to risk your lives for your blasted pride?” Though Eliza knew the only reason he stood up for her was for the benefit of his precious venture, his words warmed her.

“And we’ll need her when Sarah’s baby arrives,” Blake added.

“That’s not for another two months,” Dodd said. “We’ll be in Brazil by then and can find someone there.”

“Besides, we have the good doctor.” Mr. Scott declared. “He’ll get over his fear of blood soon enough.”

But James shook his head. “I doubt it. I’ve been like this for over two years.”

“What good is a doctor who’s afraid of blood?” one of the soldiers spat with disdain.

“But you can tell one o’ us what to do, Doc,” one of the farmers added.

The statement fired a plethora of comments into the air like grapeshot, most of which hit their mark in Eliza’s heart, and one that sank deep. “Her husband probably killed some of our kin!”

“Aye, she’s bad luck to be sure,” one sailor shouted. “And now, the parson’s gone missing.”

“Don’t be silly.” Angeline moved to stand beside Eliza. “There’s no such thing as bad luck.”

“But there’s such a thing as God’s curse, ain’t there, Doc?” Max asked. “Aren’t you a preacher too?”

James rubbed the back of his neck. “There are curses in the Bible. But not for—”

“There you have it!” Mr. Scott huffed. “The woman is cursed.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Blake shouted. “We would be cursed far worse if we lost her.”

Captain Barclay finally raised his hands in a gesture that silenced the mob. “I, for one, have had my fill of bad luck.” He faced Blake. “Beggin’ your pardon, Colonel, but it’s still my decision, and I say the Yankee goes. Max will escort her halfway to Roseau first thing in the morning. She can find her way from there.” With eyes like a hawk, he scanned the crowd, daring any to disagree. “I’ve been at sea long enough to know there
is
such a thing as bad luck. We’ll put her ashore, get water, and search for the parson, but we will set sail tomorrow afternoon, and that’s my final say on it.”

Not wanting anyone to see her fear, Eliza had been successful at keeping her tears at bay, but now, hours later in her cabin, she could not stop them from trickling down her cheeks. Nor could she stop from trembling like a palm frond in the wind. She’d accepted her fate that morning, but to have her hopes revived only to be dashed again had wreaked havoc on her emotions. Darkness slithered outside the porthole of her cabin, teasing her with its temporary reign as every minute ticked by until the sun would rise and she’d be put ashore.

“What shall I do, Stowy?” She kissed the top of the feline’s head and snuggled against his furry cheek, but the only answer she received was the contented rumble of a purr.

Unable to eat, she’d refused dinner and instead had paced her cabin, pleading with God for another chance. Sarah had joined her shortly after sunset. But after praying with Eliza and encouraging her to trust her fate to the Almighty, she had retired, complaining of a sore back. Poor food, the constant movement of the ship, and the oppressive heat did little to ease the discomfort of the woman’s condition. Yet thankfully, she now swayed calmly in her hammock, sound asleep. In a way, Eliza had much in common with Sarah. They were both alone in the world, and both had huge obstacles to overcome. Yet while Sarah slept peacefully, believing God would take care of her, Eliza’s restless soul drove her mad with worry.

The door creaked, and Angeline entered. “I thought you’d be asleep,” she whispered after glancing at Sarah.

“I can’t.” Eliza hugged herself and plopped down in the only chair.

Skirts swished. Angeline sat on the trunk beside her and took her hand. “It isn’t fair.” Stowy leaped onto Angeline’s lap and curled into a ball. She stroked his fur as if he were her only friend in the world. “Why don’t I go with you?” Her voice lifted in excitement. “Two are better than one.”

“Don’t be absurd. Why should both of us suffer? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Nothing but the creak of the ship and Stowy’s purrs replied. “You don’t know that,” Angeline finally whispered.

Eliza squeezed her hand. “Surely nothing that would warrant them hating you as much as they hate me.”

“I’m not so sure.” Angeline’s voice weighed heavy with regret. “I don’t even know why they hate you. I mean, you’re not really a Yankee.”

“They are hurting. They need someone to blame.”

Rising, Angeline bundled Stowy in her arms.

“Thank you, Angeline. It’s nice to have friends on board.” Even if Eliza could count them all on one hand.

Moonlight swayed over Angeline with the rock of the ship. Silver, black, silver, black. Much like the woman’s moods. Happy then sad, bold then timid. Eliza could not forget how Angeline had nearly fainted when the frigate captured them. Or, alternatively, how she boldly stood beside Eliza when the passengers threatened to toss her overboard. Eliza longed to know Angeline’s story. She longed to help her. But now she’d never have the chance.

“Won’t you try to get some sleep?” Angeline asked.

“I don’t think I can. You go ahead. I’ll just sit here awhile.”

Within minutes of undressing and crawling into her hammock—with Stowy curled by her side—Angeline’s breathing deepened, leaving Eliza alone again. A loneliness that cloaked her in a familiar, heavy drape. Minutes passed. The muffled sounds of voices echoing through the ship faded one by one until nothing remained but the lap of waves against the hull. Nothing save the frantic thump of her heart and the horrifying visions of her future. She tried to pray, but out of her hopelessness, no words formed. Instead, she crept out of the cabin and made her way above to the starboard railing. Perhaps some fresh air would clear her head and give her a new perspective.

A quarter moon flung silver and blue braids across the choppy bay as a breeze stirred the palms ashore in a gentle swishing cadence. Bowing her head, she clasped her shaky hands and began to pray.

Against the rolling of the ship, Magnolia clung to the ladder and made her way above deck. Her parents snoring away in their stifling cabin afforded her the perfect opportunity to slip from their watchful gazes and steal a few moments alone. She hadn’t slept in four nights—not since she’d made a spectacle of herself at the dance and revealed Eliza’s secret to all. Slipping her hand into the pocket of her gown, she withdrew a peppermint leaf and plopped it in her mouth. Just in case she came across anyone on deck. She’d tried to control her drinking after that night but found the incident had only increased her need for the vile liquor. Vile, wonderful elixir that took away the pain and made life bearable.