“It was my pleasure, Captain.”
She had barely finished her sentence when Captain Barclay turned and charged back across the deck. Despite his abrupt departure, Eliza was warmed by his attention. In fact, as she glanced over the ship, several passengers met her gaze with a nod or a smile, not with the loathing glances of before. James stood by the foredeck talking with Angeline and Sarah. The Scotts sat together on chairs beneath a sailcloth while Mable attended to their every need. Mr. Dodd, thumbs stuck in his waistcoat pocket, talked to a group of passengers about his favorite subject—gold. At the far end of the foredeck, Delia and Moses laughed as Delia’s children dashed across the deck. The Jenkins’s little girl, Henrietta, gazed up at them from the main deck as if she wished to join them. And Mr. Graves stood at the stern smoking a cigar and staring into the frothy water bubbling off the back of the ship.
Even Hayden smiled at Eliza as he made his way to Angeline. Halting before the lady, he said something and proffered his elbow. She hesitated, glanced at James and Sarah as if obtaining their permission, then slipped her arm through his. Both Magnolia’s and the doctor’s gazes followed them as they took a turn around the deck.
Blake stood at the bow of the ship staring straight ahead as if he could make Brazil rise from the ocean by sheer will. If anyone could move continents purely by resolve, it was him. She’d never met a more bullheaded man. He glanced over his shoulder, and their eyes met, but he quickly turned back around. If only his heart would soften like the others’ hearts, perhaps she could convince him to allow her to stay in Brazil.
“Oh Lord, let it be Your will.” For she didn’t know how she’d survive back home. Yet wasn’t it like her to ask God to conform to what she wanted? Or worse, to go ahead and do what she wanted and then ask God to bless it? Oh fiddle. She would try to change. She truly would.
Closing her eyes, she tilted her face to the sun, basking in its warmth. It was far too pleasant a day to think of past mistakes. There had been no ill tidings since the deadly mist, no freak accidents, no inclement weather. Perhaps their luck was about to change. She felt rather than heard someone slip beside her. The spicy scent of cigar smoke swept past her nose, and she tensed, knowing she would find Mr. Graves close by. Sure enough, when she opened her eyes, the politician stood not a foot away. His smile lacked the warmth of most people’s. In fact, it chilled her to the bone.
“Good morning, Mr. Graves.”
He leaned an elbow on the railing. Pink dusted his black hair, giving it a mahogany sheen. “You astound me, madam.”
“How so?”
“You care for people who would just as soon throw you to the sharks as look at you.” Yet his tone was not one of astonishment but more of disappointment.
“Regardless of their sentiments or intentions,” Eliza said, “it isn’t right to allow them to suffer.”
He cocked his head and studied her as if she were an anomaly. Yet his frown remained. In fact, his intense perusal forced her gaze back out to sea. Perhaps if she got to know him a bit better, he wouldn’t frighten her so.
“Where are you from, Mr. Graves?”
“Northern Maryland.” He puffed on his cigar.
“Do you still have family there?”
Wind tore puffs of smoke from his lips before he’d had a chance to exhale. “My mother and father are dead, if that’s what you’re asking, madam.” His tone was one of annoyance. “Murdered in their beds by Yankee soldiers.”
Wonderful. Someone else on board who had every reason to hate her. “I’m sorry.” The words fell impotent from her lips.
“My father was a senator from Maryland, only recently retired,” he continued. “I was to take his place, you see. I’d been trained to do so my entire life.”
“You were running for the Senate?”
“Yes.” His black eyes brightened for the first time since she’d known him. “And doing quite well, I might add.” But then his expression soured, and he peered down his nose at her. “That is until the South ceded from the Union and all my dreams were obliterated.”
He stroked his black goatee and stared out to sea. “I was to eventually run for president, you see. It was all planned from my birth. Every moment, every second of my life was spent working toward that single endeavor.”
The ship rose on a swell, and Eliza gripped the railing, thinking how strict and disciplined and terribly unhappy his childhood would have been. Even now, a dour cloak seemed to cling to the man.
“Why did you not remain behind, Mr. Graves? Surely you can still run for president.”
Eyebrows as thick and dark as night bent together as his chortle filled the air. “A Southerner as president? That will not happen in my lifetime. No, the war changed everything.”
“Then perhaps you need a new dream, Mr. Graves.”
Taking one last puff on his cigar, he flicked it into the sea. “There is no other dream.” The veins in his neck pulsed. “But I do have plans to rectify my reputation.” He twisted a gaudy ring on his finger, drawing Eliza’s gaze to the tiny golden snakes that formed the band.
Her blood ran cold. Part of her wanted to ask him what plans. Part of her didn’t want to know. “I do hope they are good plans, Mr. Graves. For the good of the colony. Perhaps you can run for office once we get established.”
“Ah yes, it is all about power, isn’t it?”
Eliza flinched at the insinuation. “I beg to differ, sir. It’s about service to one’s community.”
“Bah. That’s what they tell you, but it’s the power most politicians are after.”
“Is that what you are after?”
He shrugged. “Of course. But one can use power for good.”
True. But too often those who yearned for power weren’t good at heart. Eliza remained silent, wishing the disturbing man would leave.
A few moments of silence passed, ushered by with the rustle of water against the hull.
“I sense in you a rebellion against authority, Mrs. Crawford.”
Eliza swallowed. How could he know that? “I have had my problems obeying orders.”
His smile was brighter than she’d ever seen it. “Perhaps we are more alike than you think.”
Not wanting to consider that option, Eliza asked, “How can one so obsessed with power approve of rebellion?”
“Only by rebellion can you obtain power, no? Look at Lucifer. Once he was merely an archangel. Now, he rules an entire kingdom.”
A shiver coiled down her back. “A dark, evil kingdom.”
“A kingdom, nonetheless.”
CHAPTER 24
Blake woke to the ominous rat-tat-tat of drums. War drums. Drums that signaled his troops were on the march. Drums that meant they were about to face the enemy. Scrambling from his hammock, he nearly toppled to the deck in a frenzy to find his sword and pistol. Shadows leaped at him from all around. He batted them away, groping for his weapons. His men needed him. Were they already on the field? How had he overslept? A moan sounded. He swerved. Shapes formed in the darkness. A hammock swung to the rhythm of creaking wood.
“Another nightmare, my friend?” James’s groggy voice carved a trail of reason through Blake’s delirium. He rubbed his eyes as the bulkhead, the hammocks, the tiny desk and chair took shape and form. Drawing a deep breath, he ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.
“Sorry for waking you yet again.”
Thump thump thump sounded from above. Voices blared. One glance out the porthole told Blake it was still dark. Something wasn’t right. Jumping into his trousers, he hefted suspenders over his shoulders, grabbed his pistol, and flew out the door. Ignoring the pain in his leg, he sprang up the ladder and emerged on deck to a warm breeze and a starlit sky. Instead of harried screams, spirited laughter met his ears as the crew darted back and forth gathering something off the deck. Fish. Blake tried to focus in the dim light of a single lantern. An object flew over the railing. He leaped out of the way. It landed by his feet with a thud. A fish. But no. A bi
rd. No. A fish with wings. Blake closed his eyes. He must still be in his nightmare. Either that or he’d gone completely mad.
“Well, I’ll be.” The astonishment in James’s voice reassured Blake of his sanity. He opened his eyes to see his friend, loose shirt suspended over his chest, sword at the ready, gaping at the odd scene.
“You see them too?” Blake had to be sure.
James slapped him on the back. “God is raining fish, my friend!” Then setting his sword aside, he rushed to join the melee.
Stooping, Blake picked up the wriggling fish by its tail and examined it.
“Flying fish. They’re attracted to the lanterns at night,” Captain Barclay shouted from the quarterdeck. He rubbed his hands together. “We’ll be eatin’ well for supper.”
Blake laughed and shook his head, depositing the fish into a bucket one of the sailors held out to him.
“Ain’t it a miracle, Colonel?” the man said.
“Indeed.” Though Blake would hardly label it so. A freak of nature perhaps, but a miracle? Why would God send fish when clearly all the disasters He’d allowed proved He intended them nothing but harm?
After helping the crew gather the suicidal fish, Blake went below and finished dressing then spent the day assisting the captain and his officers with the sailing of the brig. Now, as evening descended, he took a position at the side rail, enjoying the unusually fair weather they’d been having recently. Temperatures ranged in the seventies to eighties from day to night. And with a fair wind and calm sea, Blake hoped their troubles were behind them.
His troubles, however, did not seem to be at an end, for he could not get Eliza out of his mind. It didn’t help that she recently came above looking beyond lovely in her cream-colored gown, its skirt split at the front and back to reveal a lavender petticoat beneath. Nor that her complexion glowed fresh and healthy from sea and sun. Neither did it help to hear her sweet voice as she giggled in glee watching the flying fish that were still swimming around the brig. Though they no longer jumped aboard, schools of fifty to one hundred kept pace with the ship on either side of the bow, skipping over surface like swallows looking for flies. Fascinating creatures, to be sure.
“I can hardly believe they are not birds,” Eliza said to Angeline and Sarah as others gathered around to watch.
Pushing from the railing, Blake made his way to the other side of the ship as far away from Eliza as possible. The smell of roasting fish sent his empty stomach convulsing, and he had to admit that as interesting as the creatures were, he was rather looking forward to having one for supper. The deck heaved. He staggered and gathered a steady grip on the railing. Salty spray covered his face, leaving a touch of cool refreshment as he gazed at the stunning sunset. Above him, blue sky bled into swirling emerald and maroon at the horizon where the sun spanned its golden wings over a cobalt sea.
“No one can deny the existence of God when looking at such beauty.” James joined him.
Blake grew tired of the man’s constant talk of God. “And what can one deny when they gaze upon severed limbs and spilt entrails upon the battlefield?” His tone was caustic, and he regretted speaking.
James merely smiled. “One cannot deny that mankind is fallen and in desperate need of salvation.”
“Then why didn’t God save us? Why didn’t He stop the war, all the killing?”
“Because He gave mankind a wonderful yet dangerous gift.” James leaned on the railing and gazed at the foam riding high on the hull, his mood somber. “Free will. We are the ones who start wars, not God.”
Blake shook his head. “But God could still intervene if He wanted to.”
James rubbed the scar on his cheek and shrugged. “Yes, He could. But then we would be nothing but puppets in His hand with no will of our own. No choices to make. Like the North inflicting their will on us, telling us how to live our lives, stripping us of our power, our freedom to decide. Is that the kind of God you want to serve?”
In truth, Blake didn’t want to serve any God. Yet James’s last description was exactly how Blake had always thought of the Almighty—a strict ruler in the heavens toying with mankind for His own pleasure. It stunned him to consider He might be a more benign sovereign who actually cared enough to give man his freedom. “Still, God could stop us from making bad choices and just allow us to make good ones.”
James’s lips slanted in skepticism.
Blake sighed. “But that wouldn’t be free will either, I suppose.”
“I believe it hurts God a great deal to see us suffer from our bad decisions. Which is why He sent His Son to endure all the consequences, the punishment due us for our sinful choices. But love isn’t love if it’s forced. That’s true slavery.” James stared out to sea. “Someday He will set all things right. In the meantime, we should try to choose more wisely.”
Blake huffed. “I should have brought you along as preacher, not doctor.”
“If you are offering me the position, I gladly accept.” James held up his hands. “Especially since these are useless for doctoring.” He gripped the rail with those hands that were now steady as solid oak. “Thank God, Eliza is still with us.”
Blake cringed at the sound of her name. “Don’t get used to having her skills. I still intend to send her back.”
“And have no nurse or doctor?”
“We have your knowledge. Someone else can follow your instructions until I can find a replacement.”
“Not if I can’t watch the surgery.”
Voices drew Blake around to see the lady in question strolling across the deck with Sarah and Angeline. No longer did people steer clear of her. In fact, several spoke directly to her, including a few of the farmers’ wives, and the blacksmith’s wife. Even Mrs. Scott acknowledged her in passing.
James arched one eyebrow, his eyes twinkling. “Perhaps we should put her fate to another vote?”
Eliza took a seat on one of the chairs the sailors had brought above for the ladies. She smiled at Angeline perched on one side and Sarah and baby Lydia on the other and then glanced over the happy group, chatting and laughing as children wove to and fro among people, barrels, and chairs strewn across the deck. Platters of fish were passed among the throng, along with bowls of biscuits and dried bananas. For the first time in two weeks, Eliza’s heart felt a pinch lighter. Dare she say, even hopeful?
Even the enigmatic Mr. Graves, who normally stood afar watching everyone, joined the festive crowd, smoking his cigar and piling food on his plate. Beside him, the liquor-loving carpenter, Mr. Lewis, consumed his meal with exuberance. His fiddle lay at his feet ready to serenade the passengers and crew after dinner. Moses gathered several plates in hand and returned to the foredeck where his sister and her children ate by themselves. Eliza wondered how long it would be before the group accepted him. Or if they ever would. Yet despite the possibility that nothing might change for him in Brazil, the man always wore a smile and gave glory to God.
Eliza’s eye caught Max’s, gaping at her from the quarterdeck, a hungry look on his face that she surmised had nothing to do with the food. Shifting her gaze away, she found the baker whose wife had died of the mysterious illness, standing at the starboard railing, staring blankly into the darkening shadows. Eliza longed to comfort him but knew she was the last person he wished to see. Besides, she’d seen James speaking with him earlier, perhaps even praying with him, as she’d noted their heads dipped together.
Lanterns hanging on the main and foremasts cast shifting braids of light over the scene with each movement of the ship. Above them a curtain of clouds hid the usual parade of sparkling stars from view. Speaking of hiding, Blake stood across the deck, as far away from Eliza as he could get without falling overboard, James at his side. After a few moments, the doctor stepped forward and tapped his spoon on a mug, stifling the chatter and drawing all eyes toward him. “Bow for the blessing, if you please.”
Mr. Lewis covered his mouthful of food in shame, drawing chuckles from the crowd as all eyes close
d. James proceeded to bless the food and thank God for the bounty and the good weather and for God’s healing and His careful watch over them.
“Amens” rang across the deck, along with the clank of spoon and fork on tin plates.
“I’ve never had flying fish before.” Angeline nibbled on a piece. “It’s quite good.”
“I’m sure to love it as long as it isn’t chicken.” Eliza giggled and sampled a bite, delighting in the subtle nutty flavor as a heavy gust flung strands of hair into her face. Brushing them aside, she wondered where the wind had come from. Only moments before, the air had been so calm. Even the dash of water against the hull seemed to heighten in tone and volume. Yet no one appeared to notice.
“A veritable feast!” Mr. Dodd exclaimed from across the main deck. “And a sign of good fortune to come.” He raised his glass.
To which others raised their glasses and shouted in agreement.
Sarah gazed lovingly at Lydia snuggled against her breast.
“She’s a good baby.” Eliza sipped her water. “She hardly cries at night anymore.”
“She’s a happy baby.” Sarah smiled. “I am thankful she doesn’t disturb your sleep too much.” She ran a finger over Lydia’s plump cheek. “She looks so much like her father.”
It was only the second time Sarah had spoken of him. But the sorrow in her voice forbade Eliza to question her further. Instead, she bit into a piece of hard banana. The sweet crunchy flavor burst in her mouth, reminding her of Mrs. Tom’s peach pie back home. She wondered if the woman still cooked for her family’s hotel in Marietta. And if she still made those delectable pies and cakes Eliza enjoyed so much. The ones Papa and she had shared so often together. The one and only thing they had in common. Memories both sweet and sour flooded her much like the sweet and salty taste filling her mouth. She would never enjoy those pies again. Nor ever see her father.
“Magnolia Scott!” Mr. Scott’s bellow brought all eyes to the overbearing plantation owner as he drew his daughter aside with a stiff hand and bent his head toward hers, eyes aflame.
Forsaken Dreams Page 23