Forsaken Dreams

by Marylu Tyndall

  She faced the yard, which was even blurrier beneath her tears. “After Captain Barclay deposits you on shore near your new home, I intend to sail with him back to America,” she finished.

  Blake only stared at her in silence. Though she wanted to look at him—to see if there was anything else besides anger in his eyes, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Finally, he spun around, marched into the hotel, and slammed the door behind him.

  CHAPTER 31

  Blake’s newfound joy washed away with the last remnants of rain from the storm. Stubborn, independent woman! After he’d set aside his misgivings about her allegiances, set aside his animosity, his anger. After he’d called for a vote and all but begged her to stay! No doubt she had more Yankee blood in her than she admitted.

  The man standing behind a massive mahogany desk stuffed his thumbs into his lapels and shouted over the din in a Southern accent that Blake found comforting. “Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentleman!” Within a few moments, the chattering ceased and all eyes swept his way.

  “I am Colonel James Broome, formerly of the 14th Alabama Infantry, and currently manager of this fine establishment. Welcome to Brazil!”

  Excitement buzzed through the saturated crowd once again as Blake spotted Eliza slipping through the door to stand in the back. This should be the happiest moment of his life. They had made it to Brazil! Despite all the countless struggles and tragedies, Blake had successfully led these colonists to the promised land. And from the looks of the abundance in town, it was indeed a land flowing with milk and honey.

  Then why did his heart feel as though it had been rolled over by a howitzer? Shaking off his grief, he made his way to the front and introduced himself as the expedition leader. Colonel Broome welcomed him adamantly and then began the business of showing the new arrivals to their chambers.

  Blake found his room neat and clean, the walls beautifully papered and the ceiling gilded and frescoed. Two iron-framed beds, a washstand, and a table and chairs—all painted green—bordered the southern wall. After the tight, dirty confines of the brig, Blake felt as though he’d entered a palace. James followed on his heels, throwing his pack onto one of the beds and whistling. “Look at these lavish accommodations. I never would have expected this.” The sparkle in his eyes vanished when he looked at Blake’s face. “Perchance has the rain soured your mood? We have made it, Blake.” He slapped him on the back, the action sending spray over them both.

  “Eliza’s not staying.”

  James flinched. “Why not?”

  Slipping out of his saturated coat, Blake tossed it on the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt. “Apparently not enough people voted in her favor to suit her.”

  James walked to the window, his boots squishing over the wooden floor. A breeze ruffled the plain cotton curtains, bringing the scent of flowers and rain-freshened air. “I can’t blame her, really. Did you see some of the looks the nays gave her? The Scotts, Mr. Dodd, and those soldiers, Wood and Adams?” He shook his head. “Hard to live so close to people who wish you dead.”

  Blake tore off his shirt and grabbed a towel from the washstand. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “Which is?” James spun around and struggled to remove his drenched coat.

  “For her to stay, of course.”

  “Stay for you or for her?”

  “Why does everything have to be so black-and-white?” Blake sat and tugged off his boots.

  “Life is black-and-white. Good and evil. There is no middle ground.”

  Blake rolled his eyes. Of course there was middle ground—a thousand different shades of gray between black and white. Grays such as killing your fellow American on the battlefield in a nonsensical war, lying to protect a neighbor, stealing to avoid starvation …

  And courting the enemy that murdered your family.

  Standing, he opened his duffel bag and pulled out his best suit. “We need her skills.”

  James grinned.

  Blake shoved his legs into a dry pair of trousers, pulled them to his waist, and sat back on his bed with a sigh.

  “It’s obvious you adore her.” James leaned back on the window ledge. “Yankee husband or not.”

  Blake stared at his friend but found no mirth, no mockery in his eyes. In fact, he found none within himself. Instead, the words “adore her” settled in a comfortable place in his heart.

  “Come now, are you going to deny it?” James arched a brow.

  Blake leaned forward on his knees. “Truth is, I can’t imagine life without her.”

  “Then why not ask her to marry you?”

  “Marry?” Blake punched to his feet. “Ridiculous notion,” he mumbled. Grabbing a shirt, he flung it over his head and fumbled with the buttons—anything to keep his mind off the thought of Eliza as his wife. A thought that was both alarming and thrilling. “Marrying her won’t change the way the others feel about her.”

  “No, but it will change the way she feels. The others will come around when she is your wife.”

  Wife. After the war, Blake had never thought to take a wife. What woman would want a broken shell of a man? Without family, fortune, or name, what did he have to offer a lady?

  “If you don’t do something soon, it will be too late.” James’s voice sent turmoil into Blake’s already churning gut. “We set sail again tomorrow and will be at our new land by sunset.”

  Blake tucked in his shirt and reached for his belt.

  “Do you love her or not?”

  Why didn’t the blasted man stop talking? “It’s not that simple.” Blake eased on his vest and turned to look in the mirror. Yet all he saw staring back at him was a bitter, damaged, used-up ex-colonel whose mind was so tortured from the past, he didn’t know what to think anymore.

  “It isn’t as complicated as you make it, Blake. Come now, you two are made for each other. Anyone can see that.” James tugged his wet shirt over his head and tossed it in the corner.

  Blake ground his teeth together. But it was complicated. More complicated than devising battle plans. More complicated than following orders that sent young boys to their death. More complicated than anything Blake had thus endured.

  Even the luxury of a steaming bath had not soothed away the pain in Eliza’s heart. Neither had Angeline’s noble attempts to cheer her up, nor—once Eliza had told the lady her plans—her vain pleadings for Eliza to remain with the colonists. Not even Stowy balancing on the edge of the porcelain tub and slipping accidentally into the water had lightened Eliza’s mood. Though he had looked rather comical with his sopping fur flattened against his lanky body. Why Angeline hadn’t left the cat on board the ship, Eliza couldn’t guess. Yet when she’d watched the lady gently dry Stowy with a towel and saw the way the cat nuzzled against her and purred, Eliza supposed the two were inseparable.

  If only that were true of Eliza and Blake.

  Regardless, as Eliza now descended the stairs to the main lobby, she had to admit it felt good to have her skin and hair free of the sticky, salty sheen that had clung to her since she’d boarded the New Hope. She wished she could do the same for her gowns, but there’d be no time to wash them here.

  The foyer was abuzz with the news that Emperor Dom Pedro intended to visit that afternoon. Several of the colonists sped past Eliza, retreating to their rooms to dress in their finest attire, only to descend within minutes embellished in lace, satin, and beads. Like a flock of colorful parrots, they flitted about the lobby, spilling onto the front porch and stairs, peering down the long drive and chattering excitedly among themselves. As they waited, Eliza gazed at the city from the window, entertaining the idea of perhaps staying in Rio instead of returning to the States, but thoughts of not knowing anyone or the language or culture promptly squashed that plan. Along with the idea of joining another expedition. No doubt another group of colonists would discover her secret just like this one had, and she’d end up in the same position.

  Shortly after three o’clock, the royal coach en
tered the main drive. Everyone clapped in glee as the emperor emerged and ascended the steps. Having never seen a man of such rank before, Eliza stood on tiptoes for a good look at him. Dressed in a plain black suit, with dark hair and a beard streaked with gray, Eliza guessed him to be in his late forties. Stark blue eyes scanned the crowd above a prominent nose. Only a single star on his left breast indicated his royal position. As soon as he entered the building, aides in tow, a shout went up from the crowd. “Viva! Viva! Dom Pedro Segundo!” Hats flew into the air as everyone cheered and celebrated his arrival, offering their thanks to the emperor for taking them in.

  Eliza couldn’t help but get caught up in the exuberance, if only for a moment. But as soon as she spotted Blake leaning against a doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, staring numbly at the proceedings, Eliza remembered the celebration was not hers.

  Blake entered the small room where the leaders of the individual expeditions met briefly with the emperor. Apparently two other groups of colonists were staying at the hotel. One, under the command of an adventurer named Bails, had sailed all the way from Galveston. The other, led by an former naval lieutenant, hailed from Savannah. At the request of one of the emperor’s aides, the three men took seats at one end of a long table while the emperor lowered himself into a large ornate chair at the other, two attendants flanking him. An interpreter welcomed them once again. Dom Pedro informed them they could stay in the immigrants’ hotel for up to thirty days, during which time food and water would be provided. He also mentioned he would send a band of musicians and a feast to the main gallery that night to help them celebrate their new beginning.

  The man’s generosity budded hope for Blake’s upcoming request, but his mind kept drifting back to what James had said. Marry her. At first Blake had thought the idea ludicrous, absurd. Marry a Yankee widow? What would his family think? What would his brother say? What about all the men he’d served beside, those who’d been maimed and disfigured in the war, the men who’d died at the hands of Yankees? Men whose faces still haunted him every night. What would they say?

  No. It was ridiculous.

  Then why did the idea still float about his thoughts? Prodding him, teasing him—delighting him?

  “I am well pleased with the appearance of your people,” the emperor’s interpreter continued. “My country is here to help you in any way we can.”

  With that, the leader of Brazil waved them away with a brush of his hand. As the other men exited, Blake approached the emperor with caution, begging a few words of his majesty’s time. Twenty minutes later he left the room bearing a much lighter load. True to his word, Dom Pedro, after hearing Blake’s sad tale of the loss of their fortune and most of their tools, not only agreed to loan them the money to purchase land, but also to send along donkeys and carts stocked with supplies, as well as a guide to help them acclimate to the Brazilian jungle.

  If not for the ache in his heart, Blake would utter a shout of victory—perhaps even thank God for this unexpected blessing. Instead, he wandered onto the porch for some fresh air and found Sarah rocking her baby in a chair. He started to turn, seeking privacy for his thoughts, when her greeting brought him back.

  “Exciting day, isn’t it, Colonel?” Her knowing eyes assessed him.

  He smiled. “Exciting and profitable. I have just procured a loan from the emperor for our land.”

  “God be praised! That is good news, indeed.”

  Little Lydia gurgled as if equally pleased.

  “Eliza informed me she won’t be joining us, after all.” Her voice was tinged with sorrow as she gazed at the garden steaming beneath the blazing sun.

  “So, I have heard.”

  “She seems quite distraught.”

  Blake released a sigh of frustration. The woman would be the death of him yet. “She is welcome to stay if she wishes.”

  “It must be hard for her to be so hated.”

  “That, too, is her own doing.” Blake cringed at his harsh tone.

  Sarah, however, swept eyes as blue and calm as the bay toward him. “Yet you have forgiven her, haven’t you, Colonel?”

  Blake squirmed and looked away. “For the foolishness of youth in marrying a Yankee? Yes, I suppose.”

  “It is a good start.”

  Colorful birds squawked overhead. One landed on the fence post, cocked its head, and stared at them with one curious eye. Blake took a deep breath. There was a smell to the city he couldn’t describe. A mixture of sweet, salt, and spice that was rather pleasing. They were indeed in a new land. He faced Sarah, remembering that she had lost her husband in the war. “You had no qualms about befriending Eliza after you discovered her … her”—he cleared his throat—“affiliations.”

  “Of course not. I do not hold my husband’s death to her account, or anyone’s. That is merely the nature of war. Even if I did, I would forgive her.”

  “So quickly?” Blake shifted the weight off his sore leg, his ire rising at the woman’s ridiculous piety. “And would you forgive the man who pulled the trigger?”

  A shadow rolled over her face, and Blake immediately regretted his words.

  “My apologies, madam. I’m afraid too much time in the company of soldiers has stolen my manners.”

  Sincere eyes met his. “Yes, I would forgive him. When God has forgiven me for everything, how can I not forgive others?” Lydia began fussing, and Sarah rose. “Unforgiveness will only make you bitter and sick, Colonel. You came here for freedom, did you not? Then forgive and be free.”

  Eliza didn’t want to attend the party. Why should she? She wasn’t staying in this new land. She had nothing to celebrate. But Angeline and Sarah would not relent with their pleadings, even going so far as to threaten to stay with her in the room and pout all night if she did not attend. Hence, the reason she now descended the stairs between the two aforementioned ladies dressed in her finest, albeit a bit crusty, gown of emerald percale over a bodice of white muslin trimmed in Chantilly lace. Which wasn’t nearly as fine as Magnolia’s gown of pink silk looped with sprinkles of golden beads. The raving beauty flitted about the guests, flirting with all the young gentlemen from other expeditions as music that sounded very much like a band from back home floated through the room.

  Squished between her friends like a petticoat in a clothespress, Eliza followed the crowd into the back gallery, a large magnificent room lit by a hundred candles and overflowing with a profusion of flowers and plants. Along one side of the room stretched a table laden with all sorts of odd-looking food. Chairs and tables framed the rest of the room, surrounding a black-and-white marble floor. Mulattoes and slaves, barefoot and dressed in white trousers and shirts and sporting blue caps, skittered about with drinks on trays. People from the three expeditions filled every crack and crevice, the crescendo of their voices overpowering even the band, which Eliza could now see consisted of three french horns, three drums, a clarinet, and a fife—all played by Negroes.

  Eliza hated hotels. She’d practically grown up in a hotel after her mother died, helping her aunt and uncle. In fact, it was at such a gathering at their hotel in Marietta that she’d met Stanton. He was on his way to Atlanta on a military matter and had stopped for the night. She pictured him standing in his brigadier general’s uniform with its dark blue tails, its line of gold buttons down the front, and two gleaming shoulder straps. She was only sixteen at the time, and he’d taken her breath away. And even though he’d been speaking to several men who appeared intent on his every word, he’d frozen when she entered the room. In fact, his eyes never left her—though she’d slipped through the crowd, uncomfortable under his scrutiny—until Magnolia had dragged her over for an introduction.

  Eliza could remember her feelings even now. Excited, enamored, flattered that a man of his station and reputation would be interested in her.

  “I’m starving. Let’s see what Brazilian fare is like.” Angeline tugged on Eliza’s arm, pulling her from the past and dragging her to the oblong table.

&nb
sp; “Ladies, I’ll join you in a moment,” Sarah said, looking very pretty in a red-and-white-striped gown and fringed lacy shawl. “I’m afraid Lydia needs changing again.”

  A quadrille began, and couples lined the floor as Angeline and Eliza wove through the crowd to examine the feast. Much of the food was familiar: bowls of rice, whole chickens, bananas, guavas, grapes, strawberries, peaches, some sort of cooked pork that omitted a garlicky smell, other indescribable entrees, and coffee and wine aplenty.

  “Miss Angeline.” Hayden’s voice turned them around. In a borrowed suit of black broadcloth—which was a bit short in both sleeve and trouser—clean-shaven with his dark hair tied behind him, he looked nothing like the bleeding stowaway on the deck of the brig two months ago. After giving a gentlemanly bow and proffering his elbow, he raised an eyebrow and asked Angeline to dance. The smile he sent her was dazzling. Angeline shot a questioning look at Eliza, but at Eliza’s urging, the two swept onto the dance floor, leaving Eliza to sample the food alone. Or perhaps make her escape back to her room. With just that thought in mind, she turned to see Blake, looking more dashing than ever, making a beeline in her direction.

  CHAPTER 32

  I hear the carne seca is quite good.” Blake’s presence consumed the space beside her as he pointed to a platter of meat. His eyes, full of sorrow and anger the last time she’d seen him, held a new light. Perhaps he had finally accepted her decision. Still, she had hoped to avoid him tonight, fearing her own heart could not bear the pain. In fact, after his angry exit earlier that day, she wondered why he would speak to her at all.

  But none of that seemed to matter now that he stood so close to her—all male and strength. “Carne seca”—she attempted the pronunciation— “what is it?”

  “Sun-dried beef.”

  “And this.” He spooned a chunk of what looked like soggy bread from a bowl, placed it on a plate, and handed it to her. “Corn bread soaked in cream and sugar.”