Forsaken Dreams (48 page)

“Charity suffereth long, and is kind; Charity envieth not; Charity vaunteth not itself …” James read from the Bible, but all Blake could think of was how glad he was that the beautiful lady beside him would soon become his wife. “Charity … beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth.” Closing the Holy Book, James looked up. “You may face your bride.”

Finally
. Blake turned and took Eliza’s trembling hands in his. Dressed in a creamy silk gown she’d borrowed from Magnolia, she glistened like an angel dropped from heaven. The locket she cherished so much hung about her neck. Sunlight glimmered in the maple ringlets dangling about her shoulders. A violet and pink orchid adorned her hair. She smelled of gardenias and sweet fruit, and Blake licked his lips in anticipation. Not just of their night together. But of their life together. Of making her his.

James opened the Book of Common Prayer. “Repeat after me. Do you, Blake Wallace take Eliza Watts to be thy wedded wife …?” As James continued, Blake focused on each precious word, eager to promise her anything. Finally, the man concluded.

“I do,” Blake said emphatically, smiling at Eliza and silently thanking God for revealing Himself to Blake, for forgiving him and helping him to forgive others, and for this amazing woman before him.

Eliza repeated her part, barely audible over the crash of waves, her tone timid and quavering. Nervous? The dauntless Eliza Watts? Blake couldn’t help but smile.

“… till death do us part, according to God’s holy ordinance.” She finished and gazed up at him, her eyes glossy with happiness.

Blake slid the green band one of the ladies had woven from vines onto her finger. He would buy her a better ring in Rio when he had the chance. And the money.

Yet she glanced down with such pride in her face it may as well have been covered with diamonds.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

But Blake didn’t need an invitation. He swooped Eliza into his arms and pressed his lips against hers.

Cheers and laughter filled the air around them, along with the sound of a fiddle and a harmonica. Eliza pulled away from him, seemingly embarrassed, yet the promise in her eyes spoke of the night to come.

Sunlight brushed Eliza’s eyelids like the gentle caress of a wave. Back and forth, warm and inviting, luring her from her sleep. The crash of the sea, the warble of birds, the chatter of people, and deep male breathing swirled in an eclectic symphony over her ears.

Male breathing?

Eliza moved her fingers. Warm, firm—and hairy—flesh met her touch! Flesh that rose and fell like a bellows. Memories flooded her sleepy mind. Wonderful, glorious memories! Rising on her elbow, she propped her head in her hand and stared at the man beside her, still not believing what her eyes beheld.

Blake. Her husband.

Thank You, Father. Thank You. You have blessed me far beyond anything I could have hoped for. And deserved
. Wind tore at their tiny shelter of bamboo and palm fronds—a wedding gift from the men to give them privacy. The leaves fluttered, allowing the morning sun to dapple patches of gold over Blake’s body.

A magnificent body that reminded her of the night they’d spent in each other’s arms. A night that far surpassed her wildest dreams—far surpassed any moment she’d spent with Stanton. She ran her fingers over Blake’s bare chest. He moved. Groaned. Opened one eye. And smiled.

He drew her near. “Is that my wife I see?” His voice was groggy with sleep.

“Pray tell, sir, who else would be in your bed?”

He grew serious. “Only you, forever.” He kissed her forehead and brushed his hand down her back. “Hmm. Methinks the lady forgot her clothing this morning.”

His touch gliding down her bare skin sent a shiver to her belly. “Does it offend you?” She gave him a coy smile. “If so, I can be dressed within a minute.”

“Don’t you dare.” He gently flipped her onto her back and planted his arms around her, pinning her in. “We still haven’t finished discussing your terms of surrender.”

Five days later, after the donkeys and wagons had arrived, the colonists stood before the jungle, all packed and ready to go. Excitement and uneasiness crackled in the air as everyone waited for Blake’s command to forge ahead. And if he admitted it, Blake’s own nerves were tight as a drum. He felt as though he were leading troops into battle, not farmers into the forest. Yet just like a battle, the outcome was unknown. They were entering a new land, creating a new world of their own, trekking into a jungle few had even seen. Who knew what struggles, what trials, what triumphs, and pleasures awaited them?

Thiago, their guide—a man Blake found to be both intelligent and kind—stood to Blake’s left while Eliza stood on his right. Her sweet scent was driving him mad, but there was nothing to be done about it now. She slid her hand in his and gave him such a look of approval, of love, he had to whisper another thanks to God for allowing this precious woman to be his wife.

In front of them, Hayden, James, and several men held machetes, ready to hack a path through the jungle. Angeline, carrying a cat of all things, and Sarah with Lydia strapped to her chest, joined them, while Magnolia and her parents stood off to the side, looking none too pleased at having to enter the steaming knot of greenery. Nor had they, along with a few other colonists, been pleased to discover the wagons were not meant to carry them, but to haul what remained of their supplies.

Blake glanced across the crowd. Renewed zeal flickered in Mr. Dodd’s eyes, causing Blake to chuckle. He truly hoped the man found his blasted gold. Even Mr. Graves seemed unusually excited as he gazed at the jungle like a scientist studying a specimen. Mr. Lewis folded his hands over his corpulent belly as if he hadn’t a care in the world, while Moses, Delia, and her children brought up the rear.

Blake faced the jungle again. Waves thundered behind him. Birds and insects chirped and buzzed before him, luring him onward.

Something moved among the leaves. A shadow.

Blake’s vision of Jeremy rose stark in his mind. It had seemed so real.

“Are you ready, Blake?” James glanced over his shoulder.

But Blake was still looking at the forest. A chill traversed his back.

“What is it?” Eliza stared at him quizzically.

“We should go before it gets too hot,” Hayden urged.

“I thought I saw something in the jungle,” Blake said.

“What?” Angeline followed his gaze.

“I don’t know. A darkness. A shadow. It’s probably nothing.” Blake shook his head, feeling silly. Yet the sense of foreboding remained.

James cocked one brow. “Never fear, God is with us, my friend.”

Blake nodded and slapped him on the back before facing the colonists. “Move out!” he shouted. Then hefting a sack onto his shoulder, he squeezed Eliza’s hand and led her and the band of colonists into the thicket.

James was right. Whatever was in this jungle, they would not face it alone. They had God on their side.

A
UTHOR’S
H
ISTORICAL
N
OTE

Disillusioned by the loss and devastation of war and persecuted under the vengeful thumb of the North, nearly three million Southerners migrated from the former Confederate States in the years following the Civil War. Many of them remained in the United States, moving out west or to larger cities of the North. A great majority traveled to Canada and Mexico. Exactly how many immigrated to Brazil is unknown due to poor record keeping at the time. Southerners were not even required to have passports. They simply boarded ships and sailed away!

Despite much opposition from newspapers, politicians, and even some war heroes, thousands of Southerners risked the long, dangerous voyage to Brazil for the benefit of maintaining their way of life in peace. Conservative estimates derived from newspapers, available numbers, and descendants tell us that perhaps close to twenty thousand Southerners came to Brazil to resettle after the war. It is believed that today more than a hundred thousand of their descendants still inhabit the fair country. But why Brazil? Brazil offered a similar climate to that found in the Southern states, had plenty of land good for growing sugarcane and cotton, had cheap labor, and boasted religious and political tolerance. Also, though the importation of slaves had been outlawed in 1850, slavery within the country was still allowed.

The following letter from Frank Shippey, one of the early Confederados (as they soon came to be called) conveys the sentiment of the day:

Since the surrender of our armies, I have roamed in exile over the fairest portions of the globe. But it has been reserved for me to find in Brazil that peace which we all, from sad experience, know so well to appreciate. Here, the war-worn soldier, the bereaved parent, the oppressed patriot, the homeless and despoiled, can find a refuge from the trials which beset them and a home not haunted by eternal remembrance of harrowing scenes of sorrow and death
.

MaryLu Tyndall
, a Christy Award finalist and bestselling author of the Legacy of the King’s Pirates series is known for her adventurous historical romances filled with deep spiritual themes. She holds a degree in math and worked as a software engineer for fifteen years before testing the waters as a writer. MaryLu currently writes full-time and makes her home on the California coast with her husband, six kids, and four cats. Her passion is to write page-turning, romantic adventures that not only entertain but open people’s eyes to their God-given potential. MaryLu is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and Romance Writers of America.