Blast it! He could not reconcile a lying Yankee with the woman he saw last night. How could he keep his anger toward her blazing when her honor, kindness, and generosity doused the flames at every turn? Sunlight sliced swords of silver across the bay as if angry at Eliza’s fate. Steam rose from the jungle, blurring the island. Yet no breeze stirred to offer comfort to those witnessing the lady’s judgment. Blake dabbed the sweat from his forehead, resisting the urge to follow her. To escort her to Roseau himself. Forfeit his journey to Brazil. His dreams. But his brother’s howl as a Yankee sword plunged into his gut, his family’s screams as they burned to death, haunted him with voices that had been silenced far too young, voices demanding justice.
And he couldn’t do it.
James appeared beside him, his gaze following Blake’s. “You did your best to save her.”
“It wasn’t good enough.”
“God will take care of her. I’ve been praying, and I sense He’s already answered.”
Blake snorted and shifted his weight.
“How’s your leg?” James asked.
“Healing.” Blake stretched it out. Even after standing on it for hours, no blood stained the bandage she’d applied.
“She’s a good nurse,” James said.
Blake was about to agree when Angeline dashed to his side, her face twisted in fear. “It’s Sarah.” Her gaze shifted to Eliza nearly on shore then back to Blake.
“What about her?” James stepped forward.
“She’s having her baby. And something is terribly wrong,”
James assisted Eliza over the railing. “How is she?”
“In a lot of pain and bleeding heavily. She’s asking for you.” James took her arm and swept her past the onlooking passengers and crew and down the companionway ladder. A scream that sounded as though Sarah’s limbs were being ripped off one by one filtered from below.
“Have you ever delivered a baby, James?”
“No.” He stopped at the door to the sick bay, fear skittering across his eyes. “I did most of my doctoring on the battlefield. Regardless, I can’t do this. Not with all that blood.”
Eliza nodded and grabbed the handle. “Hot water, clean rags. Lots of them, please. Oh, and rum if you can find it.”
“Already got them. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.” Another ear-piercing howl split the air. Eliza’s heart raced. “Not to worry, Doctor, I understand. Besides, I’d rather be here than out in the jungle.”
He smiled and opened the door, ushering her inside. Sarah lay on the cot gripping her belly, terror contorting her features. Angeline sat beside her holding her hand. Both ladies’ expressions softened when they saw Eliza.
There was so much blood. Eliza withheld the shriek that jumped to her throat as she moved toward Sarah. “So, your little one decided to make an early appearance? Doesn’t she know she’s not due for another two months?”
She smiled, and Sarah’s breathing seemed to steady.
“I need to examine you, all right?”
“I’ll be waiting in the hallway.” James started to close the door when Magnolia pressed through, her slave, Mable, in tow.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Eliza snapped, washing her hands in a basin of water.
“I want to help.”
“Neither you nor Angeline should be here, being unwed.”
“We can hardly stand on propriety at a time like this.” Angeline dabbed a rag over Sarah’s face.
“Besides,” Magnolia leaned in to whisper, “my slave has delivered babies before.”
Eliza spun around. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“If I had, you wouldn’t be here, would you?” Magnolia’s cultured brow rose above her knowing smile.
Confusion tumbled through Eliza at the woman’s kindness. “Thank you, Magnolia.” She faced Mable. “Is this true?”
The girl lowered her gaze. “Yes’m. I’s delivered a few babies.”
“In that case, I would love your help.”
But the examination revealed Eliza’s worse fears. Forcing a look of composure, she stood, washed her hands again, and took Mable aside. “Have you delivered a breech baby?”
Every scream, every agonizing wail sent hot needles down Blake’s back. He’d never been this close to a birthing, and he never wanted to be this close again. At least not within earshot. It reminded him far too much of the screams of agony on the battlefield. And they said women weren’t courageous enough for battle. From the sounds of what Sarah was going through, he’d bet her bravery and endurance would surpass most of the men he’d commanded.
The captain paced before the wheel, hands locked behind his back. Blake knew he was anxious to get under way. So was Blake. Several passengers mulled about the deck in the blaring, afternoon sun. Mr. Graves, cigar in hand, stood at the bow of the ship overlooking the bay as if he were in charge of the entire expedition. The Scotts huddled beneath the shade of an awning erected for their benefit. Mr. Lewis nursed a flask while playing a game of whist with a group of ex-soldiers. Moses and his sister and her children kept to themselves by the capstan. Dodd smiled and tipped his hat at every passing lady. And sailors scattered about, whittling wood or tying ropes as they awaited their captain’s orders.
Soon the men emerged from the jungle, kegs of water propped on their shoulders. Blake released a breath. Finally, something to divert his mind from the incessant screams. Within minutes they rowed to the brig, and with the help of the other sailors, they hoisted the kegs aboard. The captain met them. “No sign of Parson Bailey?”
“No Cap’n. We looked everywhere. He didn’t leave a mark, footprint, nothin’.” The man jerked his head toward another sailor. “You know old hound nose here can track anyone.” A torturing wail filtered through the ship. “Is someone dyin’?” the sailor asked.
“No. Just deliverin’ a baby.” The captain’s voice was matter-of-fact, but his mind seemed elsewhere. “I have no choice then. I have a schedule to keep and can’t hold it up for one man. We must set sail if I am to make it to New Orleans in time.”
The sailor removed his tarred straw hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Don’t make no sense. The man couldn’t just disappear.”
Disappear. An idea sprang into Blake’s mind like a predator on prey, an idea that chilled him to the bone. Hobbling across the deck, he leaped down the ladder, hoping with everything in him that he was wrong.
“What’s got into you, Colonel?” Captain Barclay followed him down the companionway.
He halted at the door to the captain’s cabin. “Parson Bailey was the last person to handle the funds for our colony.”
Understanding flickered across the old man’s eyes. The men barreled into the cabin behind the captain, who darted to his desk. Kneeling, he felt for a latch beneath the bottom drawer. A click echoed through the cabin. Blake’s breath caught in this throat. A secret lever swung open. The captain pulled out a tray. Empty.
All their money was gone.
CHAPTER 19
Eliza cringed as Sarah let out another deafening scream.
“What’s happening?” The poor woman panted. A sheen of perspiration covered her face and neck and glued her brown curls to her skin. Fear sparked from her eyes. “Why does it hurt so much?”
“All birthing hurts. Nothing to worry about.” Eliza feigned a calm tone and pressed her hands on Sarah’s womb, feeling for the position of the child. Still upside down. But the pains were coming closer now, within minutes. Eliza’s palms grew damp. Her mind spun in terror. Women often died in childbirth. Especially when the baby was not in the correct position. What was she to do?
Calm. Remain calm. Eliza drew in a deep breath and lifted up a prayer. The same thing she’d done during the war when men’s lives were in her hands. But back then, she’d had a bevy of doctors to call to her aid. Here she was alone.
“It be best if she squats,” Mable said in a timid voice, her gaze barely meeting Eliza’s. “It will hep de baby come out.”
>
“Then let’s get her up.” Eliza stood and gestured to Magnolia, who’d been pacing the tiny room, and to Angeline beside the bed. “Ladies, the baby is coming. Grab Sarah’s arms and assist her to a sitting position.”
They complied, though alarm pinched their expressions, an alarm Eliza felt strangling every nerve. Sarah moaned as they maneuvered her. Grabbing a stack of blankets, Eliza laid them on the deck beneath the woman and rubbed her hands together to settle the trembling.
Lifting her face, Sarah wailed for what seemed minutes. The sound of her pain sliced a hole in Eliza’s heart as the metallic smell of blood filled her nose.
“Mercy me, is she going to die?” Magnolia whimpered, her lip trembling. “I can’t stay here if she’s going to die.”
Angeline shot her a seething look.
“Then go,” Eliza spat. She had no time for weakness. “But no one is going to die.”
Sarah’s face reddened. Her grunts and groans joined the creaking of the ship.
Mable knelt. “Don’t push, ma’am. Try t’ not push.”
Sarah’s eyes flashed. “Are you mad?” she ground out, her face so mottled in agony, Eliza barely recognized her.
The slave girl cowered beneath the woman’s chastisement, and Eliza laid a hand on her shoulder for comfort.
Sarah panted. “Forgive me, Mable.” Her chest rose and fell. Angeline dabbed the sweat on her forehead. Magnolia’s face had gone bone white.
Amazed that, in her pain, Sarah still considered the young slave’s feelings, Eliza clasped her sweaty hands. “When you feel like pushing, squeeze my hands instead.”
Sarah nodded. Angeline rubbed her back and whispered in her ear. “It will be all right, Sarah. All women go through this. It’s perfectly normal.”
Eliza didn’t have time to wonder where an unmarried woman like Angeline would have witnessed a birthing, for another pain soon hit. Sarah slammed her eyes shut until tears streamed from their corners. She squeezed Eliza’s hands. They grew numb with pain. Eliza bit her lip, tasting blood.
Mable held Sarah’s skirts out of the way.
The woman howled for what seemed an eternity, not stopping to catch her breath.
Finally one tiny foot appeared.
Then the other.
“Wrap his legs in de blanket,” Mable instructed. “Or he’ll get too cold before the rest comes out.”
Eliza grabbed a clean spread and covered the baby’s legs, holding him in her hands. He or she wasn’t moving. Neither did any more of the babe appear. Sarah’s wail turned savage. All color drained from her face.
No Lord, no. Please don’t let them die!
Blake couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Gone! What do you mean gone?” James shoved his way through the crowd mobbing the captain’s cabin and peered into the tray. He exchanged a harried glance with Blake.
Rising, Captain Barclay slammed the empty tray atop his desk, grabbed a bottle of brandy from his cabinet, and poured himself a glass.
“The good parson stole our money.” Blake voiced what his mind refused to accept.
“Parson Bailey?” Dodd exclaimed.
“It makes sense now.” The sailor pressed the bandage wrapped around his head. “That’s why he hit me.”
“Zooks. The parson. Who would’ve guessed?” Hayden snapped hair from his face.
“This is preposterous!” Mr. Scott stormed forward, his jowls quivering. “I cannot believe it!” His wife seemed ready to faint beside him.
“How will we buy land? Food? Building materials?” One of the farmers, Mr. Jenkins, held his young daughter close.
“That was all I had left in the world,” the blacksmith said.
“We trusted you with our money!” one man pointed a finger at Blake.
“You shouldn’t have allowed the parson to know where it was!” the baker’s wife shouted.
James lifted his hands. “It’s not the colonel’s fault. Every one of us trusted Parson Bailey.”
“I agree.” Hayden rubbed the back of his neck and scowled. “What’s done is done. The man was a thief. He fooled us all.”
“Quite easy for you to say, sir.” Mr. Scott fumed. “None of the money was yours. Most of it was ours.” He glanced at his wife, whose expression had frozen in shock, then over to Blake. “Isn’t that true, Colonel?”
“You were quite generous,” Blake mumbled, still too shocked and angry with the parson to deal with Mr. Scott’s concerns. Still, since the war had stripped most of the colonists of their wealth, the Scott’s contribution, meager as it was, had constituted over half of their combined funds.
“So, we have lost more than anyone else.” Mr. Scott all but growled.
Blake wondered what difference it made. “Once you gave me your money, sir, it became part of our colony’s combined wealth to be used for land and supplies. Besides, there is naught to do about it now.”
Captain Barclay refilled his glass.
Blake wanted to slam his fist on the bulkhead, wanted to grab his pistol and shoot someone. But he’d learned on the battlefield to set an example for his men. And now as he glanced over the passengers, all eyes looking to him for answers, he swallowed his fury and slipped into his role as leader and provider. “Money can be earned again.”
“We should go back home.” Mr. Graves slithered into the room. “Better to be in a familiar place with nothing than a foreign country destitute.”
“Aye, aye,” some expressed their agreement.
But Blake didn’t want to go home. Going home meant failure, defeat. Going home meant his death. He’d invested all he had in this venture, and he wasn’t about to give up now. But these people had also invested their fortunes. They had entrusted him with their money. And he had let them down. Blake had failed at war. He had failed to save his brother. Failed to save his family. Now this. Though Blake’s father had always loved him, he’d held both his sons to a high standard. Failure was never an option. Failure was for the mediocre, the riffraff of society. Never for a Wallace.
“Why don’t we go lookin’ for the parson?” Max tugged on his red neckerchief.
“Where?” the sailor whom the parson had struck asked. “He’s probably already at Roseau by now or some other port where he can catch a ship.”
Graves stroked his goatee. “Agreed. We’ll never see that money again. All the more reason to go back to Charleston.”
“We should put it to a vote,” the captain said.
Blake squeezed the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want a vote. A vote meant the possibility of returning. But the captain was right. After the loss of most of their cargo and now their money, it wasn’t Blake’s decision to make.
“Very well,” he conceded. “Gather all the passengers on deck.”
Minutes later, Blake took a spot beside the captain on the quarterdeck and gazed down at the passengers crowding below. Beyond the ship, the island of Dominica waved like a mirage upon the turquoise bay, taunting him with the loss of their money. Somewhere amid its teeming jungles and coal-black shores, Parson Bailey strolled, his pockets heavy with gold. Or perhaps the sailor was right, and the thieving barracuda had already set sail for home.
Per the captain’s orders, sailors eased across yards, untying furled canvas in preparation to leave. Others loitered on the deck, casting interested gazes at the proceedings. Blake swallowed. His fate, his very life, lay in the decision of these people he’d handpicked to come on this voyage.
He gestured the crowd to silence then cleared his throat. “I’ll not deny that we have suffered many losses. But there is still hope. I’ve heard the emperor of Brazil is willing to sell land on credit, as well as provide food and supplies to help new colonies until their first harvest.”
“I don’t want to be beholding to some foreign emperor!” one man shouted.
“What if we can’t pay up and he throws us in jail?”
Hayden braced his boots on the rolling deck. “I say we continue. Most of us have nothing to go b
ack to anyway.”
“A stowaway doesn’t have a say!” Mr. Scott bellowed. Hayden sent the man a scathing glance.
“Say or not, the man is right,” James piped in. “We all left because our homeland wasn’t our homeland anymore. The Yankees stripped us of everything we loved dear. Why would anyone want to return to that?”
“I lost my wife and only child.” Mr. Lewis’s hopeless tone stifled Blake’s disdain for the drunk carpenter.
Graves sauntered to the front of the crowd, brushing imaginary dust from his black coat. “We should return because it is still a better choice than starving or being eaten by a wild animal in the jungle.”
“Oh ye of little faith, Mr. Graves.” Blake planted fists at his waist. “You insult the competence of this fine group. I chose each of you for your exceptional skills. Why such dire predictions?”
“Because I am a pragmatist, sir.” He gave a slanted smile. “And I know when we are beaten.”
Grunts of agreement chipped away at Blake’s patience. He wiped the sweat from the back of his neck and squinted at the sun high in the sky.
James leaped onto the quarterdeck ladder, clung to a backstay, and addressed the crowd as a breeze flapped his open shirt. “Our forefathers came to America long ago with much less than we have here. They fought the elements and the natives, and forged a living in an untamed wilderness. Why should we do any less?”
“I quite agree.” Dodd clipped his thumbs into his belt. “Besides, there’s gold to be found in this new land. I have the maps to prove it.” He surveyed the mob, his eyes twinkling. “And I’ll cut a share to anyone who helps me find it.”
Some of the men’s eyes widened.
“I’ll drink to that.” Mr. Lewis lifted his flask in the air and took a sip.
“Rubbish.” Mr. Scott chortled.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Graves snickered, sounding like the politician he was. “Chasing dreams and fantasies is not for grown men and women. We created successful lives in America once. We can do it again!”
Forsaken Dreams Page 19