Forsaken Dreams (7 page)

And did he mention she was also beautiful? Not in a Magnolia Scott stunning sort of way, but in the kind of beauty found in a field of flowers: delicate yet strong. Fresh, uncontainable, and wild.

His cabinmate, the good doctor—or should he say preacher—entered, hat in hand and hair tossed about his face, severing Blake’s musings. James heaved a sigh. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me, Blake.” He tossed his hat onto the table. “I did not mean to deceive you. I knew you already had a parson and wouldn’t sign another. So, once I discovered a nurse had joined the venture, I knew she could be my hands.”

Blake stared at him through the mirror before turning around. The ship rolled over a wave, and he leveled himself against the shifting deck. “And what if there had been no nurse on board?”

“I wouldn’t have signed up.” James shrugged. “I would have sought another ship. One that needed a pastor.” He dropped into a chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “In truth, I didn’t want to wait for the next ship. I wanted … no,
needed
, to leave everything behind.”

A sentiment Blake could well understand. “Regardless”—he huffed—“you’ve left these colonists in a rather precarious situation.”

“I still have the knowledge up here.” James poked his head and gave a sheepish grin. “It’s the hands that don’t work anymore.”

Blake rubbed his eyes and sighed, listening to the rush of seawater against the hull. It did much to soothe his nerves. “Well, I’m thankful Eliza could handle things.” He studied his new friend for a moment, noting the way he clasped his hands together before him and stared at them as if they were foreign objects. “What’s wrong with them?”

“I can’t seem to stop them from shaking. Been like that since I left the assault on Petersburg in ‘84.”

“Petersburg? I was there. Got a bullet in my leg to prove it.”

James snorted. “Odd that it might have been me who tended your leg, but I don’t remember.”

“But you said you left?”

James nodded, his gaze still lowered.

“We won that battle,” Blake said.

A moment passed in silence. “Still we lost nearly three thousand men that day.” The trembling in James’s hands increased. He clamped them together. “I couldn’t stand it another minute. The blood, the agony, the mutilation of so many young men. Boys, really. I had to get away. So I ran away. Threw myself back into God’s arms, into the preaching my father planned for me to do all along.” He finally glanced up, a haunted look in his eyes, and rubbed the scar on his cheek. “But even that didn’t help. Brazil is my last hope.”

Emotion burned in Blake’s throat. How many times had he felt like running away from the war, the stress and horror of battle after battle? But he was a colonel. His regiment depended on him. He had to do his duty. As a civilian doctor, James’s situation was different. He’d dealt with amputated limbs and disgorged bowels and anguish and death all day and night with nothing but conscience to keep him at task. How could Blake blame him for leaving when he doubted conscience and duty would have been enough to keep him in such a hell?

He liked James. Straightforward, honest, humble. Blake had commanded enough men to recognize strength and goodness in a man’s eyes. Besides, he could hardly fault James for trembling hands when Blake had his own visions and blackouts. “Brazil is the last hope for many of us,” he finally said, his tone softening. Smiling, he gripped James’s shoulder then grabbed his coat from a hook on the wall. “Come along, the captain will be waiting on us. I, for one, am looking forward to our first meal on board the ship.”

James rose, straightened his string tie in the cracked mirror, and followed Blake down a long corridor and up a hatch where they emerged onto the main deck to a blast of wind and a magnificent starlit sky. Both stole Blake’s breath away. Catching his balance on the rolling deck, he halted and gazed up at the million glittering diamonds spread across a black velvet curtain.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” James said.

“Indeed.”

All seemed quiet on deck. Most of the sails had been lowered and furled for the night, keeping only topsails faced to the wind. The first mate stood at the helm. Other passengers mulled about, but it was Mr. Graves, the ex-politician, who drew Blake’s attention. He leaned over the starboard railing, cigar in hand, babbling something at the sea. Blake hoped the man wasn’t mad. He had chosen him for his knowledge of government, which they would desperately need as their colony grew into a city. But it wouldn’t do to have a lunatic organizing things.

It also wouldn’t do to be pursued by a Union ship. The dark horizon offered Blake no glimpse of what dangers lurked beyond even as the smell of gunpowder still haunted his nose from his close encounter leaving Charleston. Still, the Union had better things to do than chase down one war criminal. And if Blake’s memory served, there were no navy ships anchored in Charleston ready to depart at a moment’s notice. The war was over, after all.

Shrugging off his worries, Blake hurried up the quarterdeck and down the companionway to the captain’s cabin, where he was greeted by the fragrant scents of mutton stew, cheese, and buttered rice. His stomach growled. Far too loudly, for everyone in the room swept their gazes his way.

But it was only one gaze he was interested in. And her golden eyes sparkled when they met his.

Eliza hoped the captain had invited Colonel Wallace to dinner. She so wanted a chance to get to know him better. Now as he stood in the doorway, looking quite dashing in his suit of brown broadcloth, she could hardly take her eyes off him. He limped into the room with more authority than most did without disabilities to impede them. She lowered her gaze, hoping he hadn’t noticed her staring at him, hoping he didn’t find her too bold, and wondering if she hadn’t lost her mind. After Stanton, Eliza wanted nothing more to do with marriage. She found the institution confining, restricting, and far too empty of the promises of love and romance she’d read about in Jane Austen novels. She had also found that she wasn’t good at it. To even think of entertaining attentions from a man could only lead to disaster and heartache for them both. No, all she wanted was to escape her past and start over in a community in which she could use her nursing skills to help others. Then why, oh why, did Colonel Wallace affect her so? He was a Rebel officer! Of all the men on the ship, he was the one man she should avoid at all costs.

Introductions and greetings abounded between those in attendance: Mr. and Mrs. Scott, the wealthy plantation owners, and their daughter, Magnolia; Eliza’s cabin mate Angeline Moore, whom she’d had to all but drag out of the cabin to attend; a man Eliza hadn’t met, Mr. Dodd who was a sheriff from Richmond with an apparent problem keeping his eyes off the ladies. Then there was James Callaway, the doctor, of course, and Parson Bailey, who seemed too tiny a man to evoke fear of damnation from the pulpit.

A slave girl stood against the bulkhead behind the Scotts. Across from her, squeezed between a large chest and enclosed bookshelves stood two sailors awaiting commands.

Everyone took a seat around the table laden with bowls of stew, various cheeses, rice, and platters of biscuits and greens. Much to her delight, Colonel Wallace pulled a chair out for her right beside his own. The doctor, or should she say preacher, held out a chair for Angeline, placing her beside Eliza while he took the seat on her other side. Angeline thanked him and slid onto her chair, but her tone was strangled and her normally rosy cheeks had gone stark white as her gaze flitted between the doctor and Mr. Dodd.

Eliza laid a hand on her arm and gave her a concerned look, but the girl waved her off with an attempted smile.

The parson said grace in a rather loud and oversanctimonious tone that grated over Eliza, though she quickly reproved herself. She shouldn’t think poorly of a man of God. Yet before he’d even intoned his lengthy “Aaaaaaaamen,” the captain had already scooped a healthy portion of rice onto his plate.

“We won’t be dinin’ so well for the remainder of the trip, I’m afraid.” Captain Barclay glanced across the table. Though his voice was as rough as rope and his face wore the age of the sea, his demeanor was pleasant and his eyes kind. “But I thought for our first night, it would do well to enjoy a hearty meal with some of my guests.”

The ones paying for a cabin, from the looks of things. All except Sarah, who had begged off with an excuse of an unsettled stomach.

“How fares this stowaway of ours?” the captain asked.

“His name is Hayden Gale, Captain,” Eliza offered, grabbing a biscuit from a passing platter. “At least that’s the name he gave me in his delirium.”

Through the stern windows behind the captain, moonlight cast sparkling pearls over the ocean, swinging in and out of Eliza’s vision with the rock of the ship. How the plates and bowls managed to stay on the table was beyond her, but aside from a little shift here and there, they were as sturdy as sailors under heavy seas. Candles showered the linen tablecloth, pewter plates, mugs, and silverware with flickering light, creating a rather elegant dining table for being out to sea.

“And he isn’t on the passenger list, Colonel?” the captain asked.

“No sir.” The colonel took the plate of biscuits from Eliza. Their fingers touched, and a spark jolted up her arm. His eyes shot to hers, playful and inviting. She looked away.
Oh fiddle! He knows how he affects me!

“Of course the miscreant isn’t on the manifest!” Magnolia scowled and turned down a bowl of corn her mother passed. “I told you he attacked me in my cabin. He’s nothing but a lecherous swine!” She sniffed, and Eliza got the sense the girl’s histrionics were purely for show. Her mother threw an arm around her and drew her close. “There, there, now.”

Mr. Dodd looked as though he wanted to hug the girl himself, though not for the same reasons, Eliza was sure.

“Well, we can’t be turnin’ the ship around now.” The captain chomped on a biscuit, crumbs scattering across his full gray beard. “If he has money, he can pay. If not, he can work.”

Eliza helped herself to some greens and handed the dish to Angeline, who passed it on, staring numbly at her plate as if in a trance.

“You can’t seriously allow him to join us. He could be a criminal!” Magnolia twirled a lock of hair dangling at her neck, candlelight firing in her sapphire-blue eyes.

The brig canted, sending a brass candelabrum and several plates sliding over the white tablecloth. The creak and groan of wood seemed the only answer to the young lady’s outburst.

Until the colonel spoke up. “Never fear, Miss Magnolia. I’ll have a chat with him when he recovers. We will get to the bottom of this. I won’t allow any harm to come to you”—he glanced at Eliza—“or anyone aboard this ship.”

Eliza tore her gaze from his as the warmth of being cared for flooded her—a feeling she hadn’t felt in years.

“Magnolia!” Mr. Scott all but shouted, startling Eliza. “Quit fiddling with your hair. It’s a disgrace as it is.” He glanced back at the slave girl as if Magnolia’s coiffure were her fault, failing to notice that his daughter melted into her chair at his admonishment. Facing forward again, he adjusted the jeweled pin on his lapel as a scowl deepened the lines curving his mouth. “And speaking of harm, I had no idea I would be traveling with freed Negroes.” His gaze shot to the captain. “I simply must protest.”

The stew soured in Eliza’s stomach. “They are freedmen now, Mr. Scott.” She abhorred slavery, always had. Though her father had treated their slaves with kindness, her aunt and uncle, who had taken over the hotel after her father’s law practice became successful, had not. Now that the war was over and the Negroes were free, she wondered if they were any better off, for she’d heard that nothing but lynch mobs and starvation awaited them.

“It is the law now.” The captain shoved a spoonful of rice into his mouth, but Eliza got the impression his sentiments lay more with Mr. Scott’s.

“They have a right to start over just as we do,” Eliza added.

The colonel turned to her, but she couldn’t tell if the expression on his face was shock or admiration.

Mr. Scott gave an incredulous snort. “Start over! What nonsense. Start over from what? For what purpose?”

“I couldn’t agree more, sir.” Mr. Dodd took a mouthful of stew then dabbed a napkin over his lips. Tall, well-dressed, with blond hair, a lopsided, pointy nose, and deep blue eyes, one could almost consider the sheriff handsome. Even his manners and speech indicated good breeding. But something about the man gave Eliza the quivers. And not in a good way.

Mr. Scott nodded his approval toward Dodd.

The colonel cleared his throat. “As much as it may unsettle some of us, Mrs. Crawford is right. They are free as we are and must be treated with respect.”

“Respect? They were not created for respect.” Mr. Scott’s fork clinked a bit too loudly on his plate. “I say we drop them off at the nearest island.”

His wife’s gaze remained lowered, though a whimper escaped her lips. A breeze squeezed beneath the door, sputtering the candles and playing a symphony of lights and darks across the deckhead.

The colonel set down his glass. “We will do no such thing, Mr. Scott. And that is the end of it.” His commanding tone brooked no argument, and Eliza could see why men obeyed him. Even Mr. Scott seemed momentarily speechless, though she was sure the pleasant reprieve wouldn’t last.