Forsaken Dreams

by Marylu Tyndall

  “Get used to it, my friend. I hear it’s even more scorching on land.”

  “You’ll get no complaints from me. Reminds me of Tennessee summers.”

  Blake had heard that Brazil mimicked their familiar Southern climate, minus the cold winters, of course. He hoped that would aid the colonists in acclimating to the new land, for they would have problems enough just surviving. But he wouldn’t think of that now. For now he would enjoy the panorama of green lowlands passing by the brig as hundreds of small gulls whirled above a forest of palm trees. If all of Brazil was this beautiful and lush, their new home would be a paradise, indeed.

  James’s yawn reminded Blake of his nightmare. “Sorry to wake you last night. And all the other nights.” He gave a sheepish grin.

  “Don’t trouble yourself over it.” James spun around and gripped the railing. The lines at the corners of his eyes grew taut as he gazed at the sea. “It was another dream about your brother? Jeremy, was it?”

  Blake nodded. “Killed at Antietam.”

  “I was at that battle.”

  Blake snapped his gaze to James as agony weighed down his heart. Surely the doctor wouldn’t have crossed paths with Jeremy. And yet hope surged within him, hope for any tiny morsel about his last moments on this earth. “Private Jeremy Wallace of the 7th Georgia Infantry. He died on the battlefield.” The brig pitched over a wave, shifting his brother’s ever-present belt plate in Blake’s pocket. Pulling it out, he ran fingers over the initials, JSW, picturing his brother standing in the parlor of their Atlanta home, dressed in his fresh uniform, excitement bursting from his brown eyes. He’d looked far too young to be dressed like a soldier. Far too young to be heading into rising hostilities that would become war. Hadn’t it just been a year earlier that he’d roamed the city streets playing pranks on the neighbors and flirting with pretty girls? Blake’s mother had cried. His father had embraced the young lad with pride. And Blake had felt sick to his stomach. None of them ever saw him again.

  “I’m sorry,” James said. “Is that his?”

  “All I have left of him.” Blake slipped it back into his pocket as shame burned a hole in his heart. How could he have tossed his brother’s memory aside so flippantly, defiled it so vehemently, by kissing Eliza? Or had he? Perhaps her brief marriage to Stanton did not make her a traitor at all. Ugh, the confusion was driving him mad! But he did know one thing. He would not kiss her again until he was sure they had a future. Until he was sure a relationship with her would not betray everything he held dear.

  “I tended some of the wounded after the battle. Perhaps I came across him.” James loosened his necktie, as if the memory of that day stole his breath.

  “I doubt it. He was sliced through by a Union officer on the field after the battle was done, or so I was told.” Blake clenched his fists until they ached. “For a pocket watch.”

  James froze. His mouth hung open.

  “What is it?” Blake asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “You remember something.”

  James snapped his gaze toward the mainland as pain tightened the corners of his mouth. His long silence threatened to unravel Blake’s carefully wound control.

  “It was a horrible battle,” the doctor finally said, rubbing his eyes. “We lost thousands that day. I don’t remember specific soldiers. Though I do recall that many of our wounded were finished off by Union troops scouring for treasure.”

  Blake huffed his frustration. “Brutal savages.”

  “We were no better.” James rubbed the scar on his cheek.

  Perhaps. Blake drew a deep breath of morning air, hoping to sweep away the foul memories. Slapping his palms on the railing, he lifted his face to the breeze. “Let’s talk of brighter things, shall we? Like arriving at our new home soon.”

  “Hard to believe we are almost there.”

  “Especially with all the bad fortune that has come our way.” Voices brought Blake’s gaze to a few passengers emerging from below. On the foredeck, Mr. Graves stared at Brazil, rubbing something between his fingers. When had he come above?

  “I’d say.” James chuckled. “Chased and boarded by a Union frigate, nearly sunk in that horrendous storm, the strange illness, the rigging splitting and injuring the first mate.”

  “The fire,” Blake added.

  “Parson Bailey stealing our money.” James shook his head.

  “And that baffling bird attack.”

  James stretched his shoulders and sighed. “It almost seems like someone or something is trying to keep us from our destination.”

  Blake’s gaze unavoidably swept once again to Mr. Graves. “Yet they have not succeeded, have they?”

  James cocked a brow, a twinkle in his eye. “We aren’t at Rio yet.”

  Eliza woke to the smell of Blake on her skin and the memory of his lips on hers. She smiled and stretched her hands above her head. What a wonderful, incredible night. Well, all except Max’s attack. But even that had brought Blake to her rescue and lowered the shield around his heart. She only hoped it remained lowered and didn’t lift again with the rising of the sun. Swinging her legs over the cot, all the sweet sounds she’d grown to love cascaded over her: the thumping of feet above, the creak and groan of the ship, the purl of water against the hull, the shouts of sailors. She listened for one particular voice, the one that sent her heart crashing against her chest. There it was. That commanding, confident shout calling for everyone’s attention.

  Rising, she examined the scratch on her neck in the mirror and did her best to pin up her hair and smooth the wrinkles from her gown before heading above. From Blake’s tone, whatever he wished to tell the passengers sounded important.

  Weaving through the mob amassing on deck, Eliza spotted Sarah, Lydia in her arms, standing beside Angeline. Thank goodness Angeline seemed to have recovered from her leap into the sea nearly two weeks ago, though she still refused to discuss the reason she’d wanted to end her life.

  Now as she looped her arm through Eliza’s, she leaned toward her and whispered, “Where were you last night?”

  “I slept in the sick bay.” At Sarah’s concerned look, Eliza added. “I’ll tell you both later.”

  “Your attention, please.” Blake’s voice drew all gazes toward him as he stood on the quarterdeck beside the captain. Since she’d seen him last, he’d shaved and donned a proper vest over his shirt, a necktie, and a pair of tall, leather cavalry boots. Eliza thought him the handsomest man in the world.

  A breeze tore at her hair, cooling the perspiration forming on her brow, and flapping the sails overhead. The ship rose on a swell, and everyone braced their feet against the canting deck.

  “I’d like to take a vote on a rather important question.” Blake’s tone carried a hint of nervousness. “It concerns Mrs. Crawford. “His gaze sought hers and remained there for several seconds as if no one else existed on board the ship. The remembrance of their kiss sent heat flushing through her. She tried to ignore the lingering sensation and focus on the matter at hand, hoping beyond hope that the vote he spoke about had to do with her future on this venture. As if confirming her thoughts, he smiled, and her heart felt as though it were pounding a hole in her chest.

  “What about her?” someone yelled, jerking Blake’s gaze from her.

  He drew a deep breath. “I believe the lady has more than proven how valuable she is to our group. In fact, she has been nothing but kind to all of you, even those who would have abandoned her on Dominica.”

  Eliza’s heart beat even faster.

  “Aye, she healed my earache,” one man shouted.

  “And she delivered my baby,” Sarah added.

  “And stitched up my cut,” a sailor said.

  Affirmations of all she’d done flipped into the air like huzzahs after a victory until the captain finally called for silence.

  “I realize she married a Yankee officer,” Blake continued. “But she is still a true-blooded Southern lady. And let’s face it, we have all made mis
takes.”

  Nods of affirmation bobbed through the group.

  “Raise your hand if you agree to allow Mrs. Crawford—Eliza—to continue with us.”

  Eliza couldn’t believe her ears. She wanted to rush into Blake’s arms and shower him with kisses. Instead, she gripped Angeline’s and Sarah’s hands and said a silent prayer.

  Arms went up all across the deck.

  Eliza closed her eyes, afraid to count them, afraid they weren’t the majority. Seconds passed like hours. The roar of the sea pounded in her ears. The rumble of sails thrummed on her heart. She squeezed her friends’ hands as a trickle of perspiration made its way down her back.

  Finally, Blake’s voice boomed over the ship. “It’s settled then. Eliza stays.”

  Groans and grunts from those who disagreed buffeted her ears—and her heart—like pistol shots. Yet when she opened her eyes, she found Blake gazing at her once again. The intensity of his look weakened her knees and opened her heart to the possibility that maybe dreams did come true.

  Sarah and Angeline squealed in delight and tugged on her arms, dragging her gaze from Blake’s. Batting a wayward tear, she hugged them both and allowed herself a moment of bittersweet victory.

  Bittersweet because there were still many who wanted nothing to do with her. Mr. Dodd among them, as he snapped his pocket watch shut, gave her a snide look, and strolled away.

  Some of the passengers crowded around, offering their congratulations. The Scotts raised their noses and dropped below, while Magnolia gave Eliza a sincere hug. Even Mr. Graves offered his best wishes, though from his tone and demeanor she couldn’t be sure that was a good thing. From across the deck, James nodded and smiled. Hayden approached and placed a gentlemanly kiss on her hand and then gave her a mischievous wink that no doubt had charmed a thousand women. A thousand and one from the look on Magnolia’s face.

  However, a dozen or so people scattered away, scowling at her as if she were the devil himself. How could she settle into a new colony when so many still hated her?

  When the crowd dissipated, Moses and Delia, children in tow, approached Eliza, beaming smiles on their faces. “We’s so glad you can come wid us.”

  Mariah, Delia’s youngest girl, dashed toward Eliza. Horrified, Delia tried to extricate her daughter from Eliza’s skirts, apologizing profusely and cowering as if she expected to be chastised. But Eliza knelt to take Mariah in her arms. “No need to apologize, Delia. I love children.” Though Eliza’s father would probably die on the spot if he saw her embracing a black child. Surprise dashed across Delia’s eyes before she smiled and took young Mariah from Eliza’s arms.

  The family soon left, and Eliza turned to see Blake standing a short distance away, watching her with interest. “No need to try and impress me further with your extraordinary kindness, Eliza,” he said as he approached. “I said you could stay.” His grin was sly and charming.

  She gazed up at him, her body temperature rising with each step he took toward her. “I don’t know how to thank you, Blake. I … I …”

  He placed a finger on her lips. Her pulse raced. “No need,” he said, offering her his arm. “It was the right thing to do.”

  Slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow, Eliza allowed him to lead her to the railing. “And is that the only reason you took a vote?” Her tone was teasing. But instead of bolstering her hopes with an amorous response, his silence pounded them into dust. Those stubborn lines on his forehead appeared again. Which meant he was either frustrated or confused.

  “About those terms of surrender, Colonel?” She made another attempt to revive the Blake that had made an appearance in sick bay the night before. But he remained hidden beneath a somber exterior.

  Leaning one arm on the railing, he faced her. “Eliza, I want to apologize for kissing you. It was wrong of me to take advantage of your frightened condition.”

  A stone sank in Eliza’s stomach. “I wasn’t frightened. Well, not then. And you didn’t take advantage of me. I wanted to kiss you. I know that is improper of me to say and you must think me far too forward, but it’s the truth, nonetheless.”

  A hint of a smile touched his lips then faded. “Still, I promise you it will not happen again.”

  “Colonel!” Captain Barclay bellowed from the quarterdeck. “A moment, if you please.”

  Without another word, Blake excused himself and left. A chill settled on Eliza in his absence. Facing the sea, she pounded her fists on the railing.

  What a fool she’d been! Blake didn’t love her. The kiss had meant nothing to him. Eliza was no innocent. She understood men. The passion she’d felt in his kiss was just that. Passion. Physical passion in a moment of weakness. If not, he would have made his intentions clear. He would have professed his love to her, asked to court her. Instead, his contrite tone gave her no room for hope. All the blood drained from her heart. Bowing her head, she fought to keep tears from her eyes.

  She loved Blake. She loved him so much it hurt. And she knew one thing. It would be impossible to live side by side with him, see him and talk to him every day, perhaps even watch him love another, and know she would never be his.

  CHAPTER 30

  Anticipation crackled across the ship. It sizzled in every creak and moan of wood, every thunder of sail, every dash of water against the hull. It buzzed in the excited murmurs of the passengers as they stood at the railing in breathless anticipation of their first glimpse of Rio de Janeiro.

  Pressed between Sarah and Angeline, Eliza stood among the excited throng, most of whom had been awakened by Captain Barclay’s shouts announcing their soon arrival. How the man knew they were so close, Eliza had no idea. The passing vista was much of the same glistening white beaches and luxuriant greenery they’d been seeing for days.

  At the bow, Mr. Dodd kept rubbing his hands together and pacing back and forth, shifting his gaze over the mainland. Did he actually believe he would simply set foot on land and forthwith find the illusive pirate treasure? If it even existed. Eliza smiled and glanced at Mrs. Scott, sitting atop a barrel, an expression of abject misery twisting her face as Mable fanned her profusely. Mr. Scott stood by her side, not a speck of enthusiasm peeking from behind his austere expression, while Magnolia leaned against the foremast, looking more bored than usual. That was, until Hayden sauntered by and gave her a roguish grin before tipping his hat at her parents and joining James at the railing. Magnolia’s gaze followed him, a pout on her lips and her creamy skin pinking, making Eliza wonder what, if anything, had happened between them.

  Moses, Delia, and her children stood on the other side of the ship, but Moses’ gaze was on poor Mable, whose arms must surely be aching from so much fanning. The children’s gazes, however, were on little Henrietta Jenkins and two other youngsters playing a game of cup and ball on the main deck. A few feet beyond the young ones, Mr. Lewis sat atop the capstan, face down and hunched over, most likely from overindulgence in alcohol last night. The man must have brought along his own stash, since the ship’s meager supply was dwindling fast. And at his usual spot at the larboard railing, Mr. Graves stood apart from the others, dressed in black from head to toe, with an equally dark aura hovering around him. Thank goodness Max was nowhere in sight. Locked below, Eliza had heard, by the Captain’s orders after Blake told him what the man had done.

  Lydia’s gurgles brought Eliza’s attention back to Sarah, who adjusted the baby’s blanket to cover her eyes from the sun. Dabbing the perspiration forming on her neck, Eliza wondered how the child endured a blanket in this heat. Yet she seemed quite content as she smiled at her mother and reached for the shiny cross hanging around her neck. The love sparkling in the child’s eyes brought back memories of Eliza’s own mother. She felt the loss in the pit of her stomach. How different her life would have been if her mother hadn’t died of fever when Eliza was only twelve. Most likely, Eliza never would have married Stanton, nor would she be on this voyage. Nor would she have met Blake. And while his commanding voice continually
bounced over the deck, causing her heart to skip a beat with each deep intonation, she almost wished she had never met him. She hadn’t spoken to him since he’d apologized for their kiss and dashed off to attend his duties yesterday. And she wasn’t altogether sure she wished to speak to him. As painful as it was, she knew now what she had to do. There was no other option.

  Straightening her shoulders to give an appearance of an inner strength she didn’t feel, she stared at the passing web of greenery. Water the color of emeralds caressed golden sands leading to patches of foliage interspersed with tall cliffs and boulders that seemed to grow out of nowhere.

  Something moved in the jungle. At first Eliza thought it must be an animal, but then the rustling leaves parted and a person emerged onto the beach. A man dressed in Union blues. His gaze locked on Eliza’s. Her blood ran cold. She rubbed her eyes then peered at the spot again. Alarm sped through her. It couldn’t be. Stanton? It was Stanton! She’d know him anywhere. His thick brown beard. The way he clasped his hands behind his back. The gold winking at her in the sun from his shoulder straps. She closed her eyes again and shook her head, trying to dislodge the vision. Her breath cluttered in her throat, nearly suffocating her. When she opened them again, he was gone.

  “Did you see him?” Eliza asked her friends, hearing the quiver in her voice.

  “See who?” Following the tip of Eliza’s pointed finger, Angeline stared at the passing spot.

  “I don’t know. I saw someone in the trees. A soldier. A Union soldier.” Eliza threw a hand to her throat.

  “Impossible.” Sarah laid a hand on Eliza’s arm. “Oh, my dear. You’ve gone pale. I’m sure it was an animal of some sort. Do you wish to sit down?”

  “No.” Eliza tried to settle her heart. “Thank you. I am sure you are right.” Her attempted smile felt tight on her lips. She was going mad. There was no other explanation. Stanton was dead. She’d seen his dead body lying in a casket. Of course he wasn’t standing on a beach in Brazil. In the agony of her recent decision, her mind must’ve conjured him up—to torture her for all her bad choices. That was all. Lord, how many times must I repent? When am I to be free of the guilt? She lowered her chin and stared into the foam swirling and crashing off the hull.