“I have not belonged here for quite some time, Colonel.” She cast a glance toward Fort Sumter up ahead, a sudden nervousness rising. “They won’t fire upon us, will they?”
Following her gaze, he shook his head, but not before she saw a flicker of trepidation cross his eyes. “We are no longer at war. And, to them, the
New Hope
is but another merchant ship leaving Charleston. The soldiers would have no way to get word to them in time, for I see no telegraph wires connecting the mainland.” He hesitated a moment, as if hoping to gain reassurance from his own words. Finally, he breathed a sigh then leaned one arm on the railing and assessed her with an intensity that caused a flush to rise up her neck. “You did not go below with the other women during the shooting.”
“I don’t fare well in cramped spaces.”
His laughter bubbled over her, pulling a grin to her lips. “Then I fear you have chosen a rather uncomfortable voyage, Mrs. Crawford. There is no place on a brig that is not cramped.”
“Except on deck,” she said.
“Indeed. Then I shall be privileged to see you often.”
She lowered her gaze.
“Forgive my boldness.” His tone was contrite.
“No Colonel. It’s simply been awhile since I’ve received a compliment.”
Her comment brought a perplexed look to his face, but he smiled nonetheless. “Still, it was a rather brave thing to do. Staying above amidst the shooting.”
Eliza gazed over the white-capped wavelets in the bay. The wind picked up, stirring the loose strands of her hair about her neck until they tickled her skin. She pressed a hand over them, suddenly embarrassed that she’d never been able to put up her own hair properly without a maid. “I must thank you for saving my life, Colonel. I’m not quite sure why I didn’t duck like everyone else.”
“Shock does odd things to people.” He rubbed his jaw as sullenness overcame him. “I’ve seen that firsthand.”
“I imagine you have, Colonel.” Eliza had witnessed that as well. The shock of men who woke to amputated limbs and disfigured bodies. The shock of watching their friends and companions die beside them.
His gray eyes turned inquisitive and sad. “You no doubt endured much”—he seemed to be searching for a word—“unpleasantness, being a nurse on the battlefield.”
“More than I cared to.” More than she would ever forget. The ship bucked, and she grabbed the railing for support.
“You have my sincere admiration, madam, for volunteering for such gruesome service. Many of my own men would have died if not for the hard work and care of our nurses.”
“It was the least I could do.” The very least after what she’d done.
“And signing up to be part of a new colony in Brazil. A widow? I do believe your courage and tenacity surpasses many of the soldiers under my command.”
“I fear I’ve always been too adventurous for my own good.” Eliza laughed even while her heart swelled at the colonel’s praise. Especially coming from a man like him. She’d done her research on him before joining his expedition. Hailing from a prominent family in Atlanta, he was a West Point graduate who rose to the rank of colonel within only a year after his first commission. Being a nurse, she’d had many contacts among soldiers, many of whom had served under the colonel. All had the same story. His men adored him and happily risked their lives for him, and all who knew him spoke of his honor and integrity.
“Still, Colonel. You flatter me too much. It is I who should sing your praises for the sacrifices you made on the battlefield.”
He glanced across the deck, his lips tight. “We have all sacrificed.”
His humility only added to her regard.
He faced her. “You sacrificed your husband to this horrid war.”
Eliza nodded and shifted her gaze to the bay, suddenly feeling like she had no right even to speak to such a man.
“Forgive me. I’m far too blunt at times.”
Eliza could now add kindness to his list of exemplary qualities.
“But let’s talk of more pleasant things.” He studied her. The tone and expression on his face made her wonder if he, too, felt the overwhelming attraction between them. Another flush heated her neck. Oh fiddle! She was behaving like an innocent girl, not a widow who knew the intimacies of marriage. But then again, men had not paid her much notice in the past three years when she’d been covered in blood and filth on the battlefield.
“What do you hope for in Brazil, if I may ask, Mrs. Crawford?”
“A new start, like most of us, I imagine. But most of all peace. I long for peace, and a place to nurse cuts and colds not amputations and bullet wounds.”
He nodded his understanding.
“And you, Colonel? Aside from desiring any place where you aren’t hunted by authorities, that is.”
“You said it all so succinctly in that one word.
Peace
.” He gazed across the bay, such pain burning in his eyes, it nearly brought tears to her own. Pain and something else. A hint of hope, a longing. He faced her, snapping out of his daze. “Yes, peace. And to start a colony. Be there at the beginning of a new city, a new community, just like our forefathers. Very exciting!”
“And I have no doubt you’ll find yourself as equal to the leadership of a colony as you were to the leadership of a regiment.”
He looked down as if embarrassed by her compliment. How unusual and yet utterly charming for a man who was used to being in command.
“Now it is I who am flattered, madam. However, I’m quite pleased to have such an advocate on board.”
“Then you can count on me, Colonel.” Eliza smiled as they stared into each other’s eyes a bit too long for being so newly introduced. Yet she couldn’t seem to pull herself away.
Until thankfully, the snap of a sail broke the trance. With topsails spread to the rising wind, the
New Hope
approached the neck of the bay. Silence permeated every plank and timber as all gazes bounced between Fort Sumter on their right and Fort Moultrie on their left. Colonel Wallace stiffened. He slipped even closer to Eliza, as if he could actually protect her from a cannon blast. An endearing sentiment that brought a smile to her lips.
Though the American stars and stripes waved proudly above the fort, most of the buildings were nothing but crumbling ruins. Hammer and chisel echoed over the waters as soldiers worked to repair the once magnificent fort. Some of them stopped to gaze at the passing ship. One man even raised his hat to wave at them. Captain Barclay and a few sailors waved back, chuckling. As they sailed past, the remaining intact cannons merely winked at them in the sunlight.
Colonel Wallace released a breath. Captain Barclay ordered more sails raised, and within minutes, the unfurled canvas caught the wind in a jaunty snap, and the
New Hope
burst onto the open sea, free at last.
Other passengers emerged from below, among them the finely attired older couple Eliza had seen come aboard earlier.
“Mr. and Mrs. Scott,” the colonel said in a low voice, following the direction of her gaze. “Wealthy plantation owners from Roswell, Georgia. Their daughter, Magnolia, must still be below. And behind them, there”—he pointed to a man in a striped shirt and suspenders. His rosy round face reminded Eliza of an aged apple. “Mr. Lewis, our carpenter.”
The poor man’s hands shook as he clasped them together and made his way to the foredeck. “He seems a bit unnerved,” Eliza said.
“We are all unnerved, Mrs. Crawford. It is not easy leaving everything we know.”
A gasp sounded from the Scotts’ direction, and Eliza glanced to see Mrs. Scott, hand over her mouth, pointing across the deck at a Negro man and a woman with two small children.
“Ah yes.” The colonel frowned. “The only freed Negroes coming on the journey. Moses; his sister, Delia; and her children, Joseph and Mariah.”
Though many freed slaves had been wandering the streets since Eliza had come to Charleston, she’d never actually spoken to one. Her parents had kept a few house slaves in their home in Marietta, but Eliza had no idea whether freed slaves would be relieved, fearful, angry, or even hostile toward whites. Yet the kind look on Moses’ face did much to ease her apprehension.
“And there is the doctor.”
Eliza snapped her attention to a tall, brawny man with light brown hair and a scar angling down the side of his mouth. “Doctor?” She felt immediate relief that she wasn’t the only medical person on board.
The colonel shifted his weight. “James Callaway. Well, at least he used to be a doctor in the war. He says he hasn’t tended patients since. Became a preacher after that.”
Eliza was about to comment on how odd a transition that must have been when a woman’s scream blared from below.
All eyes shot toward the companionway hatch. Excusing himself, the colonel headed toward the sound when another scream pierced the air. Eliza followed him, fearing that her new roommates were somehow in trouble. Before they even reached the companionway, a man emerged. The wind caught his dark hair and blew it around him as he stumbled above, clutching his side. The plantation owner’s daughter, Miss Magnolia, popped up behind him, her face awash with rage and fear. “He attacked me! That man attacked me in my cabin!” She dashed to her mother, who gathered her up in her arms and tried to console her daughter amid her hysterical sobs.
But the man didn’t look as though he could attack anyone. Hand pressed to his side, he dropped to his knees before tumbling backward to the deck. Only then did Eliza see blood oozing in between his fingers.
She knelt beside him and studied the wound. “This man’s been shot!”
C
HAPTER
4
The night before
H
ayden Gale sauntered into McCrady’s Tavern, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. He scanned the mob of merchants, fishermen, gamblers, and ne’er-do-wells who frequented his favorite Charleston haunt, searching for the man he was to meet. Mr. Wilbur Ladson, Hayden’s latest mark. Worth more than four thousand dollars a year and owner of more than five hundred acres of farmland in Ohio. The wealthy landowner had come to Charleston on a business deal, or so Hayden had heard. But Hayden’s business with him had nothing to do with a deal and more to do with a sham—a sham that would make Hayden rich. Which was why he’d purposely made Mr. Ladson’s acquaintance and, in the process, found him to be a man of oversized paunch and undersized intelligence. Add to that his excessive greed, and he was the perfect target. A target who would provide Hayden with both the means and the freedom to focus on a far more important goal.
Spotting the ill-bred, fatwit in the corner, Hayden headed his way, spiraling through tables laden with flickering lanterns, cards, and foamy mugs of beer, while waving off greetings tossed his way. It was good to be back in Charleston, the town of his birth, despite the memories that lurked in every corner, tugging at what was left of his heart. The heart he’d left behind when his mother had died and those same memories had banished him from town. But he was back now on a tip, a very reliable tip, that his father, Patrick Gale, had returned.
Hayden swept a gaze over the bawdy mob, looking for that face that was forever planted in his mind from a tintype of his mother’s. He’d been searching for his father for fifteen years, and he wouldn’t give up until he found him—and planted him six feet under for what he’d done. Even if it took the rest of his life. He scanned the faces one more time. His father wasn’t here.
Just as well. Hayden had business to attend to. Besides, it was only a matter of time before he found the man. He’d nearly caught him in Galveston—had been in the same room with him, but the charlatan had slipped away. It was as if the man knew Hayden was looking for him. Which was impossible. Zooks, he probably didn’t even remember he
had
a son.
Hayden stopped before Mr. Ladson, who was devouring a plate of shrimp and grits, grease sliding down his chin. A skinny man with spectacles perched atop a pointy nose sat beside him, sipping a drink. Odors of lard, alcohol, and tallow blended unpleasantness in Hayden’s nose.
“Ah, Mr. Jones. Please join us.” Mr. Ladson gestured toward a chair. “I’ll order you a plate. Charleston excels herself in grits and seafood.”
“No thank you.” Hayden slipped comfortably into the phony name he’d given Mr. Ladson, as easily as he slipped onto the seat and gestured for the barmaid to bring him some port.
The three men drifted into conversation about the weather, the high price of goods in the South now that the war was over, the ease with which one could purchase Rebel land, all topics that conversely bored or angered Hayden. Though he’d spent some time during the past few years in the North, he was Southern bred through and through and hated what the “Reconstruction” was doing to his home. Reconstruction, indeed. More like destruction.
Mr. Ladson finished his feast, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and sat back in his chair. Someone began playing a piano on the other side of the room.
“We should get down to business, Mr. Jones.” The skinny man, whom Hayden now remembered was Mr. Ladson’s accountant, slid his spectacles up his nose. “Mr. Ladson and I have another business dealing later tonight.”
“Another venture, sir?” Hayden smiled at Ladson. “It would seem your visit to Charleston has been quite lucrative.”
“Indeed, Mr. Jones. First your deal involving a hundred acres of cultivated farmland and then another deal with Mr. Haley involving a grand investment in a railroad. The South is indeed prime for the picking!”
Hayden ignored the man’s ravenous glee. In fact, he ignored everything else but the name Haley—a name that sent his stomach into his throat. “Mr. Martin Haley?”
“The same. Do you know him?”
Hayden painted a nonchalant mask on his face to disguise the hatred roiling within, something he had grown quite adept at doing over the years.
Haley
. One of his father’s aliases. “I’ve made his acquaintance.” He tapped his fingers over the rough wood.
The skinny man’s eyes lit up. “Do you vouch for his integrity, Mr. Jones?”
Hayden could barely restrain his laughter. As it was, he coughed into his hand to hide any telltale expression sneaking onto his face. “Of course. He’s a fair man. In fact, I have some business with him myself.”