Forsaken Dreams

by Marylu Tyndall

  Nods of affirmation bobbed across the deck.

  Blake studied the odd man. “Why did you sign on for this voyage if you are so intent on going back?”

  “I am a politician, Colonel. I don’t vote for risky ventures doomed to fail. And this venture has become far too risky for my tastes.”

  “Life is full of risk.” Hayden crossed his arms over his chest. “Returning home would hold as much a risk as sailing ahead.”

  James gave him a nod, and Blake followed with an approving glance. “Let’s put it to a vote, then,” the captain intervened.

  “Agreed.” Blake drew a deep breath. “All in favor of returning raise your hand and say, ‘Aye.’”

  “Ayes” echoed across the ship, piercing Blake’s heart like musket shot as he counted the hands. Twenty.

  “All those against returning, say nay.”

  Nays in equal volume and number filled the air.

  Blake scanned the deck. His stomach constricted with the count of each hand. “Twenty.” He sighed. “We are equal.” Yet there were forty-four colonists in all. Yes, of course. The women below. Since the screams had ceased, he’d all but forgotten them.

  “What’ll we do now?” one of the farmers asked.

  “I vote with the ayes.” Magnolia emerged from the companionway, blood on her gown and a grin on her face.

  “Hush up, girl!” Her father seethed. “You don’t know your own mind. And what in the tarnation is all over your gown? Good heavens, Mrs. Scott, look at your daughter.” Covering her mouth, the lady sped to Magnolia and dragged her below.

  “Twenty-one to twenty.” Blake felt as if a piece of rope had lodged in his throat. Four additional votes could seal his fate. Eliza would no doubt vote to return, since she was to be sent back anyway. Miss Angeline might as well, considering the bond the two women had formed. That left only Sarah. And her one vote wouldn’t be enough.

  CHAPTER 20

  Nothing happened aboard a ship that was not soon privy to all who had ears. Which was why Eliza knew, from the shouts and the tapping of feet above her, that something important was taking place on the main deck. Something that, no doubt, had some bearing on her future. Yet even though Sarah had delivered a healthy baby girl, Eliza hesitated to leave her until mother and child were resting comfortably. Instead, she sent Magnolia to see what was happening and report back immediately. But when the lady did not return, Eliza settled the baby in Sarah’s arms, gave Angeline final instructions, and headed above.

  Even before she reached the top of the hatch, she deduced the reason for the gathering from the heated discussion. “I vote with the nays,” she said, popping onto the main deck. Eyes darted her way, some scanning her with contempt, some blinking at the blood splattered across her apron, others shifting their gazes away as if she were a leper.

  Blake grinned. Or at least Eliza thought it was a grin—hoped it was a grin.

  “She doesn’t get to vote,” the baker said. “She’s a Yankee.”

  “Aye, that’s right! She shouldn’t even be here,” one of the ex-soldiers shouted.

  Blake’s jaw flexed. “She paid the same as the rest of you.”

  “I simply refuse to accept the vote of a Yankee.” Mr. Graves’s tone was incredulous. “I doubt any true Southerner would.”

  “This Yankee just saved Sarah’s life.” Angeline’s voice spun Eliza around to see the lady emerging from below. Lifting her chin, she cast a stalwart glance over the passengers. “Saved her life and the life of her baby through a difficult delivery. A healthy baby girl.” She smiled at Eliza and squeezed her hand. “So if you won’t accept her vote, surely you’ll accept mine. I vote we continue to Brazil. And so does Sarah.”

  Batting hair from her face, Eliza looked up at Blake, wondering what the final count was. Relief reflected in his gray eyes before he looked away. “That makes twenty-three to twenty-one in favor of continuing on to Brazil.”

  Some shouted in victory. Others moaned. Mr. Graves skulked away.

  “Never fear. We will survive,” Blake shouted, gripping the quarterdeck railing and halting the retreating mob in their tracks. “We will create a new land, a land where we can keep our freedom, our honor, our integrity, and our Southern ways. A land where no one can tell us how to live.”

  The confident tone of his voice, the determined assurance lining his features, and the commanding spread of his shoulders all combined to create an aura of ability, of trust, that drew people to follow him. He must have been magnificent on the battlefield. Even now all eyes latched on him and all grumbling ceased.

  “Here, here.” Dodd thrust his fist into the air, followed by Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Scott, and several other men.

  Captain Barclay gave Blake an approving nod before bellowing orders that raised sails, weighed anchor, and set their course. As the crowd dispersed, Blake assumed his duties as first mate with ease. Leaping to the main deck, he brushed past Eliza. Drawing in a deep breath of his masculine scent, she remained in place, stunned. Afraid to move. Afraid that if she did, someone would remember that she wasn’t supposed to be on board at all—that she was supposed to be marooned on the island, whose waving palms now taunted her from beyond the starboard quarter.

  Shouts echoed across the ship. Sails lowered and flapped in the breeze as men heaved on the capstan to raise the anchor.

  James approached, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Good work, Eliza. Shall we check on your patient?” He proffered his elbow with a wink. “Out of sight, out of mind, eh?”

  With a grin, Eliza placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her below.

  Eliza woke with a start. Darkness saturated the cabin. Grabbing the hammock rope, she pulled herself to sit and listened. Nothing but the creak of the ship and deep breathing of her friends met her ears. But she thought she heard … well, it didn’t matter. She was no doubt dreaming. Lying down, she closed her eyes and tried to fall back asleep. Much needed sleep ever since Sarah’s baby was born. Little Lydia woke up hungry two or three times a night. Yet once Sarah started feeding her, she slipped back asleep in no time. Eliza wished she could do the same. But more often than not, she lay awake for hours pondering her fate.

  Wondering if it wouldn’t have been better to have remained on Dominica. At least there no one knew who she was. Here, on board the brig, almost everyone hated her. They ignored her, avoided her, and cast disdainful glances her way. To make matters worse, Blake had not said a single word to her in a week, nor even graced her with a glance. His rejection hurt her the most. At least Angeline and Sarah still spoke to her, as did Magnolia, James, and a few of the farmers’ wives. She should be thankful for that.

  An eerie song filtered through the bulkhead, raising the hairs on Eliza’s arms. So she had heard something. Sliding from her hammock, she nearly tumbled to the deck. What she wouldn’t give to sleep in a bed again. After slipping into a blouse and settling a skirt over her nightdress, she left the cabin and inched up the companionway ladder. Ribbons of light and dark swept over the deck from a lantern hanging at the mainmast. A warm breeze, ripe with brine and a hint of dawn, toyed among the strands of her loose hair.

  The chanting stopped. She peered into the darkness but could not find its source. Odd. Probably one of the sailors, embarrassed at seeing her at this hour. Grabbing her skirts, she braced herself on the heaving deck and made her way to the railing. Dawn would break soon, and with each mile they sailed southward, the sun’s ascension grew more and more beautiful. She knew because she had often been up at this hour—the perfect time to enjoy fresh air without being assailed by reproachful glances and bitter comments.

  Gripping the railing, she drew a deep breath of the sea and prayed for strength to endure another day. Inky water bubbled and churned beneath a sky lit by a thousand twinkling stars, so incredibly beautiful. It was hard to remain morose for long. The warm air suddenly chilled. She glanced behind her. A dark shadow slithered across the deck and disappeared into the shadows. Eliza’s skin crawle
d. “Who’s there?”

  When no answer came, she faced the sea again and nearly bumped into Mr. Graves. He eyed her with a predatory look that sent her leaping backward. “Mr. Graves, you frightened me.”

  “Sorry, my dear. Unintended, I’m sure.” A burst of wind blew his dark hair behind him. “What are you doing up on deck this time of night?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.” Eliza gripped the railing and took a step away from the strange man.

  “I don’t sleep, Mrs. Crawford.”

  “At all? Or just tonight?”

  “Rarely.”

  “I seem to be having the same trouble lately,” she muttered, more to herself than to him.

  “I would expect so.”

  His features were lost to her in the shadows, yet she sensed a hostility—no, something deeper—a malevolence that chilled the air around him.

  She rubbed her arms and took another step away, thankful the roar of rushing water drowned out her thumping heart, lest he sense her fear. Leaning one arm on the railing, he turned toward her. The smell of tobacco bit her nose as silence made the passage of time unbearable.

  Eliza stepped back yet again. “Why do you tarnish your reputation by speaking to a traitor?”

  “When I saw you here alone, I thought you might be in some sort of trouble.”

  “As you can see, I am quite well.” She used a dismissive tone, hoping he’d let her be.

  He paused. “There are many people who would not wish that so, Mrs. Crawford.”

  “Are you one of them, sir?”

  He chuckled. The first time she’d ever heard the man chuckle. “For instance”—he waved a hand through the air—“with you standing alone at the railing, anyone could come along and toss you overboard.”

  Eliza gulped.

  “All they need do is grab your feet, and voila“—he flicked his wrist and gazed at the churning foam below—“over you go.” He sighed. “Who’s to stop them?”

  “I would.” Blake emerged from the darkness like a leviathan from the deep.

  Eliza’s heart lurched into her throat. Mr. Graves plucked a cigar from his coat pocket. “Never fear, my good colonel. I was merely warning the lady of the possibility, not advocating the action.”

  Blake crossed his arms over his chest, inflicting Graves with his silent stare.

  Finally, the man dipped his head to the two of them. “Well, I suppose … Good evening. Or should I say good morning to you both.” Then turning, he strode away, whistling a disjointed tune.

  Eliza’s legs gave out, and she gripped the railing. “Thank you, Blake.”

  “Colonel.” His jaw tightened. Yet he made no move to leave.

  “Of course. We are back to formalities.”

  “Do you blame me?”

  Eliza flattened her lips. “Then why not allow Mr. Graves to toss me overboard?”

  “Because I am not a murderer, Mrs. Crawford … or Watts.”

  Eliza drew in a ragged breath, trying to settle her nerves. Still he stayed, taunting her with his presence. As agonizing as it was, she wanted him to stay. She wanted to talk to him. Make him see how sorry she was. “Why are you awake so early?”

  A hint of gray circled the horizon. “Nightmares. I can’t seem to rid myself of them.” He approached the railing, sorrow weighing his tone.

  Eliza longed to touch him, longed to smooth the lines on his forehead. “Quite normal for men suffering from the war.”

  He cleared his throat as if embarrassed about his malady. “How is the baby? I have not seen Sarah above deck.”

  “Lydia. She is small but healthy. The difficult birth taxed them both.”

  “I doubt either would be alive without you.”

  Eliza gobbled up the compliment like a starving woman would a scrap of bread. Yet just like a scrap, it did nothing to ease her hunger. “Mable, Magnolia’s slave, was a great help.”

  “Hmm. Regardless of what the crew thinks, they are fortunate to have you on board for the journey.”

  Another compliment? Dare she hope he was softening toward her? “And you? What do you think, Colonel?”

  He faced her. His eyes as hard and unyielding as steel. “I wish I had never met you, Mrs. Crawford. That is what I think.”

  Blake regretted both his words and his tone the minute they left his lips. Not because he didn’t mean them, but because Eliza’s sweet face melted into a puddle of despair. Yet it couldn’t be helped. When he saw Mr. Graves harassing the lady, as an officer and a gentleman, Blake was obligated to step forth. It was his duty and the only reason he had broken his vow of silence to the lady.

  But that was all it was. She was still a liar and a traitor. Two things he could never forget.

  Or forgive.

  Then why had he stayed?

  It was as if some invisible force had kept his feet fastened to the deck, some rebellious need to hear her voice, to look into those golden eyes once more. Eyes that now flooded with pain and turned away. Excusing himself, Blake mounted the steps to the foredeck, seeking solace at the bow where the crash of waves drowned out his conflicting thoughts. In the east, the sun peeked over the horizon, but instead of tossing golden spires across the water, a strange darkness immediately stole the light. A gray mass, thick and black—like storm clouds, yet not storm clouds—appeared in the sky. It settled on the water and began to grow and tumble toward them like a dust storm on an open prairie. Yet this dust storm soon spanned the entire horizon and rose into the sky, shoving back the sun and obscuring all stars in its path. The helmsman eased beside him, his eyes wide.

  “What is it?” Blake asked.

  “I dunno, Colonel. I ain’t seen nothin’ like it.”

  “Wake Captain Barclay.”

  Within minutes, the captain and most of the crew flooded the deck, along with some passengers who had woken during the commotion. Telescope pressed to his eye, Captain Barclay examined the approaching monster, his body stiffening. He lowered the glass. The lines on his face deepened.

  “There’s no thunder,” he said. “No lightning. No rain. It’s not a squall. But what is it?” He tapped the telescope into the palm of his hand then turned and bellowed orders to the crew to lower sail.

  James slipped beside them.

  More people came above, rubbing their eyes and turning to look at the hungry cloud churning and swirling and moving toward them, eating up the ocean in its path. The air fled Blake’s lungs. He glanced over his shoulder to see Eliza, staring at the foggy beast, hugging herself. Angeline stood beside her. Concern for their safety, for her safety, bit at his conscience. Before Blake could act, James headed toward them, but Hayden leaped in front of him and beat him to the ladies, leading them beside the quarterdeck.

  Then it hit. The gray mass swallowed up the brig without so much as flapping a sail or stirring a lock of hair. No breeze. No wind. No sight. Nothing but gray covered everything: the sea, the sky, and the ship. It was as if a bowl had been dropped on them by the spoiled child of some unearthly giant. Eerie silence reigned. An odd smell, like sulfur, burned Blake’s nose. Sailors lit lanterns. Passengers huddled together as voices shot through the fog calling to friends and family.

  Blake groped his way toward the main deck, looking for Eliza, but he couldn’t see a soul in the thick smoke. Voices sounded hollow as if coming from within a deep well. “Eliza!” His voice bounced across the deck and returned to him, ringing in his ears. Sails flapped above. The sea dashed against the creaking hull, telling him that at least the ship still sailed.

  Then the coughing began. At first a few coughs pumped into the fog from all around, then more and more until they coalesced into a crescendo that reminded him of corn popping in a kettle.

  “All hands stay where you are. No one move.” Captain Barclay’s shout muffled through the fog. “Stay calm.” Yet his voice was far from calm.

  Shadowy figures drifted in the haze. Fearful muttering tickled Blake’s ears. What in the blazes was going on? Heart seizing, he
found the railing and slid his fingers along the damp wood, thrusting into the smoke toward the spot where he’d last seen Eliza.

  Crackling sounded. Light speared the darkness. A single ray at first, striking the deck and scattering the mysterious vapor. Then another shaft and another until the deck, railing, wheel, the masts, the entire brig took form and shape and the mysterious gray shroud disappeared, leaving the ship in full sunlight. Scanning the horizon, Blake squinted at the brightness but found no trace of the gray mass. How could it have dissipated so suddenly? His stomach tightened. The last time they’d been cloaked in fog, the Union frigate had fired on them. This time he wasn’t even sure the strange cloud was fog. Whatever it was, he shivered at the possibility that it brought an even worse disaster.

  He glanced over the brig, making sure no one was hurt. Dodd toppled to the deck. Then two other passengers. Mrs. Scott fainted in her husband’s arms. Mr. Jenkins coughed then slouched over the railing. Hayden collapsed beside Eliza.

  Captain Barclay opened his mouth to speak, but only garbled words emerged before he fell to the deck with a thud.

  CHAPTER 21

  Thunder bellowed in the distance. Eliza gazed at the dark, roiling clouds—dark and heavy like her heart. She hugged herself against a sudden chill and forced her attention to the two canvas-bound forms lying lifeless on the plank: Mr. Milner, one of the ship’s seamen, and the baker’s wife, Mrs. Flanders, with her husband crouching over her body, tears streaming from his eyes.

  James opened his Bible and began to read:

  “‘And as we have borne the image of the earthy, we shall also bear the image of the heavenly.… So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory.’”

  The words sounded hollow in Eliza’s ears. Hollow like the empty threat of thunder in the distance. After all the catastrophes they’d thus endured, what damage could any storm do to them now? What curse could be worse than the deadly disease that had plagued them ever since the strange, ethereal mist had enveloped the ship? Was it a curse? Were there such things? Yet three days later, with over half the passengers and crew sick, and these two precious lives gone, what else could Eliza think?