Leaping up the quarterdeck stairs, he made his way to the stern, wincing at the pain radiating through his leg. Which seemed to be getting worse, not better. He guessed that was to be expected with all the heaving and careening and the extra effort it took just to keep upright on the ship. Nevertheless, he would be glad to settle on dry land again.
Leaning over the taffrail, he watched the foamy wake bubble off the stern and dissolve in the deep waters. Just like everything good in his life.
He plucked his brother’s belt plate from his pocket and fingered it, shifting it in the sunlight, examining all the facets, the engraving, squinting when it reflected light in his eyes. Which only reminded him of Jeremy’s smile, so bright and warm.
Perhaps in a new place, a new country, where no memories of the war or his past existed, Blake would find freedom from his nightmares. In a place where no Yankee roamed, his soul could rest, forget, and find peace.
It was his only hope.
A loud twang crackled over the ship, followed by a snap. Blake spun around. Sailors shouted and rushed across the brig. Rigging parted. The brace on the weather side began to split. One of the yards swung free.
Beneath the urgent shouts of the captain, the first mate joined a group of sailors in the ratlines, scrambling aloft to capture the wayward yard.
Blake started toward them. The ship canted. The yard shifted and struck the first mate.
He fell to the deck with a soul-crunching thud.
On the captain’s heels, Blake dashed down to the main deck as men circled the fallen man. But it was the look on Mr. Graves’s face that halted Blake in his tracks.
A look of sheer joy.
CHAPTER 11
Sink me for a pirate if this voyage ain’t under a jinx!” Captain Barclay slammed his fist on his desk, overturning a bottle of ink and sending Eliza’s heart into her throat. He righted the bottle before too much of the black liquid spilled on his charts. At least the ones he had left. For in addition to smashing the main compass in the binnacle and stealing the captain’s sextant and scales, the thief had also absconded with several of his maps.
Eliza suddenly wished she had not been summoned to the captain’s cabin, along with James, to give a report on the first mate’s condition. She’d spent enough years enduring her father’s temper to last a lifetime. Yet the other men in the room—the colonel, the parson, and two sailors—seemed unaffected by both the captain’s outburst and by the furious pace he now took up before the stern windows, growling like a bear.
“Your first mate suffered quite a blow to his head,” James stated. “I’m afraid, he’s slipped into a coma. There’s no telling when he will wake up. Weeks perhaps.”
“But he will wake up?” the captain asked, looking concerned.
“I believe so, Captain. In time.”
The news did not improve Captain Barclay’s mood. He halted, his face hard as quartz. “We are chased and boarded by a Union frigate, my rigging splits and nearly kills my first mate, and”—he tossed the rest of a drink to the back of this throat then slammed the glass down on his desk—“where in Neptune’s sea have my instruments and charts gone off to?”
At the man’s enraged tone, Eliza took a step back, her ears ringing at the string of curses that followed his statement. The colonel, noting her unease, came to stand by her side.
Always the gentleman. He cleared his throat, drawing the captain’s gaze.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Crawford.” Captain Barclay said before he poured himself another drink.
“If I may, Cap’n.” One of the sailors, the boatswain, whom Eliza believed was named Max, stepped forward. “I might know who took yer instruments.”
The deck heaved. Water hissed against the hull. The colonel steadied Eliza with a touch. But the captain only gaped at Max in consternation. “Well, spit it out, man, I haven’t all day! Whoever it is, they’ll be slurpin’ bilgewater by morning!”
“That fine-lookin’”—Max cleared his throat—“the Scotts’ daughter, I meant to say.” He fidgeted with his hat. “I saw her enter yer cabin yesterday morn.”
“And you said nothing!”
The captain’s bark sent Max back a step. “How was I to know what the tart was up to?” He shrugged, and his tanned face turned a deep shade of scarlet. “Figured it was none of me business why the lady came to yer cabin alone.”
James’s eyes widened.
“Oh my.” Parson Bailey opened his Bible and began flipping through the pages.
“Oh for the love of …” Captain Barclay huffed. “Bring her here immediately. And her parents!”
Within minutes, the Scotts arrived, acting as indignant as if they’d been whisked away from a royal ball.
“What is the meaning of this, Captain?” Mr. Scott grabbed the lapels of his fancy coat.
But the captain’s eyes were on Magnolia, who had slipped behind her father’s large frame. “I would like a word with your daughter, sir.”
“My daughter?” Mr. Scott flinched then turned to find Magnolia cowering beside her mother. With a huff, he dragged her forward. “What could you possibly wish to discuss with her?”
“Miss Scott.” Circling the desk, the captain crossed his meaty arms over his chest. Sunlight angled through the window, jouncing over his indigo coat. “Do you have somethin’ to say to me?”
Magnolia’s eyes widened. Her gaze skittered about the room before landing back on the captain. “I don’t believe I do.”
“About the cap’n’s instruments.” Max jerked a thumb toward Captain Barclay. “How ye stole them from his desk.”
“An’ smashed the compass,” the other sailor chimed in.
“Oh dear.” Mrs. Scott sank into a chair.
Magnolia’s eyes turned to shimmering pools. Her bottom lip quivered, and she stumbled over the deck. Eliza rushed to slip an arm around her back for support.
A real tremble did course through the lady, but she jerked from Eliza’s embrace and glared at her parents. “I want to go home.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I only wanted the ship to turn around and head back to Charleston!”
Wind pounded against the stern windows.
Mr. Scott gawked in horror at his daughter. “What have you done?”
“There is no place in the kingdom of heaven for thieves and liars,” Parson Bailey said, causing Mrs. Scott to whimper.
And red fury to course across Mr. Scott’s face. “You stole the captain’s instruments?” His voice rose with each word as he glared at his daughter. “What were you thinking?” He grabbed her arm until tears spilled from her cheeks, his jaw tight above quivering jowls. But then his eyes wandered over the group, and composing himself, he faced Captain Barclay. “Do tell me that wasn’t the reason we were captured and boarded.”
“No, not entirely,” the captain said. The ship creaked and groaned as it tumbled over a wave.
Magnolia tripped, never taking her gaze off the deck. “I just wanted to go home,” she mumbled. “I just wanted to go home.”
“Miss Scott,” Captain Barclay said, “you put the entire brig and everyone on board in grave danger.” He gripped the edge of his desk behind him and leaned back with a sigh. “Thank God I have a hand compass and an extra sextant. But my charts. What did you do with them?”
“I tossed everything overboard,” she said without looking up.
Mrs. Scott’s whimpering transformed into wailing, reminding Eliza of a sick cow.
Which seemed somehow fitting, since Mr. Scott, at the moment, resembled a bull penned in a cage. “Of course we will pay for the damages, Captain. Please accept our apology.” His tone was one of restrained fury. Then turning, he clutched Magnolia’s arm in a pinch and dragged her out the door. “You have embarrassed me to no end, young lady. Incorrigible behavior. Simply incorrigible!” When his wife didn’t follow, he shouted over his shoulder. “Come along, Mrs. Scott.” As if waking from a stupor, the woman rose, face to the floor, and shuffled out
the door.
The parson sped after them, muttering something about repentance and restitution.
Despite Magnolia’s actions, Eliza felt sorry for her. She knew what it was like to live with an overbearing parent who insisted on managing every detail of her life. No doubt that was the reason Magnolia had turned to drink. In truth, she and Eliza were not so different after all. Eliza had been no less rebellious against her own father. In fact, she’d been more. She could still picture him standing in his study the day she told him she wanted to marry Stanton.
“You will not marry that man! He is from Pennsylvania of all places. He is not one of us. Besides, it has already been arranged. You are to marry Miles Grisham.”
Miles Grisham, the heir to the Grisham railroad fortune. And a mealymouthed weasel of the worst kind. “But, Papa, please. I don’t love him.”
With a snort, her father strode to the window. Dressed in a fine cutaway coat of gray broadcloth with silver braid trim shimmering in the afternoon sun, he presented such a handsome, commanding figure. “Love only causes pain.” He huffed. She knew he was thinking of her mother. Her death when Eliza was only twelve had robbed her father of his youth, his zest for life—his heart.
As if confirming where his thoughts had taken him, he said, “Your mother would approve of Mr. Grisham.”
“Mother would want me happy.”
He spun around. “And you think I don’t? This is for your own good. You’ll see.”
When Eliza opened her mouth to protest further, he held up a hand. His signal that the discussion had come to an end.
And Eliza’s signal to resort to drastic measures—to disobey him and run away with Stanton. Like Magnolia, she had not considered the implications of her actions that day. Now, looking back, she wondered if she’d only married Stanton to get out from under her father’s thumb.
The captain’s voice jarred her from her thoughts.
“Colonel, I’d like to make you my acting first mate if you’ll accept the job.”
Colonel Wallace stretched his broad shoulders, which seemed to rise beneath the man’s question. “Me? I hardly know what to do.”
“The men respect you.” The captain sipped his drink then pointed it toward the colonel. “Besides, I’ve been watching you. You learn fast.”
James nodded his approval.
“Very well,” the colonel said. “I’ll do my best.”
Eliza’s heart nearly burst with happiness for him. He’d more than proven that he was a leader of men and quite capable of the position.
After the captain dismissed them with a wave of his hand, Max brushed past Eliza, touching her arm as his eyes roved over her, giving her an unpleasant chill—a chill that instantly warmed when the colonel proffered his elbow with a smile. But Eliza begged off with the excuse that she needed to check on her patient. She’d love nothing more than to spend time with the colonel, but it was better this way. Better for them both.
Two uneventful weeks passed. Uneventfully delightful in the sense that they’d not seen another ship, nor had the weather been overly uncomfortable, though it had rained consistently each afternoon. But also uneventful in that most of the passengers had settled into a daily routine and were now complaining of the monotony of company and scenery. And of the food! Porridge and biscuits for breakfast, chicken and biscuits for lunch, and chicken and biscuits for supper. Eliza wouldn’t care if she never tasted chicken again. Besides, she couldn’t stand the sound of the poor creatures being butchered each morning and evening. Since the Yanks had stolen their rice, cheese, pigs, and most of their produce, the meals had become something to endure rather than enjoy.
Nevertheless, they’d also had a pleasant lapse of medical emergencies. Aside from the first mate, whom Eliza checked daily, there were no other catastrophes except a few rashes and one case of diarrhea. Well, unless running into the colonel every time she turned around was a catastrophe: by the forecastle; on the main deck; by the stern; in the galley, the hold, the sick bay. Wherever she went to try to avoid him, there he was with that hypnotic grin on his face and a request on his lips to join him for a stroll.
What was a lady supposed to do? She could hardly ignore someone on board a tiny brig. And if she dared to admit it, she enjoyed every minute she spent in his company. Minutes in which she’d grown to know and admire him even more.
Sunlight angled across the cabin as Eliza put the final pin in her hair and slipped on her bonnet. Behind her, Sarah’s gentle snores filled the tiny space as she swung in her hammock to the movements of the ship. So far along with child, she must be quite uncomfortable and tired. Yet every day she gathered the children together to teach them their lessons. Angeline had already risen and left the cabin sometime in the night, as she often did. Eliza suspected some tragedy ran deep within the poor lady. If only she could get her to talk about it. Perhaps Eliza should pray. Oh fiddle! Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
Lifting up a quick prayer for Angeline, she slid a few pins on her hat to keep it in place, took one last glance in the mirror, and turned to leave, looking forward to her daily stroll on the deck. And hoping, against her own good sense, that the colonel would seek her out.
Closing the door as quietly as possible, Eliza made her way down the hall, stopping when a macabre tune floated up from the hold. No, not a tune. A chant of some kind. She’d heard it before in the wee hours of the night. It had slithered down her spine and sent a shiver through her exactly like it was doing now. But who would be uttering such a direful chant?
Shaking it off, she climbed the ladder to the main deck, squinting at the sun, now a hand’s breadth above the horizon. Wind tumbled over her, dislodging her hair from its pins and loosening her hat, making her wonder why she bothered to attempt the fashionable coiffeur at all.
Gripping the brim, she proceeded across the deck and spotted Magnolia battling her parasol. Eliza had managed to find another bottle of brandy in the sick bay to lock the woman’s tongue, but with the Union frigate absconding with most of their rum, she didn’t know how much longer she could appease the girl. Surely Magnolia wasn’t cruel enough to ruin Eliza’s life when there was no alcohol to be found on board?
A gust of wind tore the parasol from Magnolia’s hands, sending it bouncing in the air on its way out to sea. Mable, her slave, dropped the load of books she carried and caught the parasol just in time, handing it to her disgruntled owner, who snagged it from her with a scowl. Moses darted toward them, picking up the books for Mable and handing them to her. Her cheeks reddened like raspberries on chocolate as she nodded her thanks.
Eliza couldn’t help but smile at the budding romance. The thought of which drew her gaze to Blake at his usual spot on the quarterdeck. He’d filled the role of first mate as if he’d been born on a ship. How he’d learned all the names and positions of the sails and when they should be raised or lowered, furled or unfurled, she had no idea, but the crew leaped to task whenever he shouted an order. Wind swept over him as he stood conferring with the captain, flapping his white shirt. His dark eyebrows knit together at something the captain was saying, but then he saw her, and his forehead relaxed into soft lines.
Chastising herself for being caught staring at him—yet again—Eliza positioned herself at the starboard railing and gazed out over the blue expanse of sky and sea. She’d never realized how many shades of blue there were: azure, cobalt, indigo, navy, turquoise, cerulean, teal, beryl. And each so beautiful and unique, appearing at the whim of sun, cloud, and wind. As well as the depth of the sea, Captain Barclay had told her.
Closing her eyes, she drew in a breath of briny air tainted with the odor of fish. She fingered the locket hanging around her neck. Thoughts of her mother were interrupted by the clipped gait of the colonel’s boots coming her way. Her heart leaped.
“Another fine day, is it not, Mrs. Crawford?”
“It is indeed, Colonel. The ocean grows more magnificent each day.”
“I hear it’s even more b
eautiful off the coast of Brazil.” The brig flopped over a wave, showering them with salty spray and causing them both to laugh.
Eliza brushed the moisture from her skirts as the colonel’s expression sobered. “May I join you, or do you prefer to be alone?” he asked.
If ever there had been a time for her to deny his request, it had been two weeks ago when he’d first asked the same question. But too much time had passed, too many strolls around the deck, too many conversations of happier times in the South before the war, and now Eliza could not imagine denying herself the only thing she looked forward to on the journey. Even though she knew it was unfair to them both. Oh what a weak woman she was! Always led by feelings and not by reason. She should make an excuse that she needed to think, to pray—to do the right thing for once in her life! Instead, she faced him. “I would love the company, but surely you have duties to attend?”
“Ah, you won’t get rid of me that easily, Mrs. Crawford. Besides, with a clear sky and a steady wind, there’s not much to be done at the moment.”
That moment turned into several minutes as the colonel shared with her the reason he started this venture to Brazil. Eliza found herself mesmerized by his words; the inflection of his voice when he spoke; his confident, resonant tone; how the sunlight reflected the ocean’s blue in his gray eyes; and the way the wind batted the tips of his coal-colored hair.
“Forgive me, I’ve gone on and on about my hopes for Brazil,” he said.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting a simple life, Colonel. Not after what you’ve endured. What we’ve all endured.” Eliza sighed and held down her bonnet against a burst of wind. “To work hard, reap the fruit of your labors, raise children, and live in peace. Peace from others lording it over you, peace from oppression and hatred.” Yes, Eliza could well understand that. She longed for that kind of life, herself, as well.
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