Forsaken Dreams (40 page)

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.

“There she is!” Captain Barclay shouted. “Sugar Loaf. You can’t miss her!”

All eyes shot off the bow where a black mass jutted toward the sky. The excitement rippling through Eliza erased all memory of Stanton. Men returned to their posts, everyone “oohing” and “ahhing” at the gorgeous view. Beyond Sugar Loaf, mountain ranges appeared through the morning mist, their rounded summits covered with verdure and tropical forest, while the faint outline of a much larger range loomed in the distance, rising above a heavy belt of snow-white clouds.

Eliza felt Blake’s overpowering presence behind her long before he spoke.

Overpowering, thrilling, and … unsettling.

“Sugar Loaf is a huge slab of black granite, ladies,” he began. “Towering over us by some thirteen hundred feet. Isn’t she magnificent?”

“Indeed, she is.” Angeline craned her neck as the monstrosity rose before them. “See how the sunlight washes her in purple.”

Shielding her eyes from the reflection, Eliza admired the beauty as Blake swept his hand toward the mountains surrounding the bay. “The square tower of the Gavia, the crested Corcovado, the pinnacle of Tijuca. All the familiar mountain faces which stand like sentinels looking down upon the loveliest expanse of water in the world. The bay of Rio de Janeiro.”

Eliza had never heard such excitement in his voice. “How do you know their names?”

“I’ve been studying Brazil for months. Ever since I first decided to gather a group of colonists to come here.”

Captain Barclay shouted orders to lower sail and set course toward a fort perched on a large rock in front of Sugar Loaf. The Fort of St. Cruz, Blake informed them. Uniformed men scurried from the gate to spread across the front of the large building. One of them raised a speaking cone to his mouth and uttered a string of words in a language unknown to Eliza. Yet Captain Barclay seemed to understand fully as he replied through his own cone.

“What are they saying, Colonel?” Sarah asked.

“I have no idea, though I imagine they are asking who we are and where we are from.”

Eliza raised a brow at him. “You mean to say you didn’t learn Portuguese as well?”

His grin sent her heart racing again, and she faced forward. Perhaps it was better not to look at the man.

Finally, the signal for them to pass was given, and the
New Hope
skated into the bay. Like jagged teeth, the surrounding coast jutted into the water, forming innumerable smaller lagoons. Charming islets dotted the bay, their borders filled with orange and banana trees, the lush greenery interrupted only by small villas. A sky of the most superb blue spanned overheard while myriad kingfishers dove beneath the water, only to emerge seconds later with fish in their beaks. Catamarans and fishing boats, as well as a few larger ships drifted over the aquamarine water, which was as calm as a lake. Rio de Janeiro itself extended from the bay upward. Several hills sat in its midst, layered in small houses, while in the valleys, countless fine homes, churches, and public buildings sprawled out in all directions. Beyond the city loomed a lofty chain of mountains, their peaks lost in the mist.

Aside from a few gasps and murmurs, most of the passengers stood in stunned awe of the beauty before them. But Eliza felt only sorrow. Though she should be happy to at least witness such an exotic place, her insides grieved already at the loss. She had made her decision.

Excusing himself, Blake went to assist the crew in lowering sails and anchoring the ship. A small boat soon arrived carrying the port physician, or so the lithe, dark-skinned man claimed to be. After inquiring whether anyone on board was sick and casting a cursory glance over the passengers, he told the captain to wait for the customs house boat and promptly left, dabbing the perspiration on his neck with his handkerchief.

And wait they did. For an hour. The rising heat soon leeched all enthusiasm from the passengers and crew. Some went below. Others sought out shade on the deck, while still others endured the heat at the railing, unable to pull away from the splendid view of the city.

“I cannot believe we are finally here,” Angeline said, her tone a mixture of excitement and sorrow. A breeze flirted with her copper curls, and Eliza’s heart went out to the lady. She wished she could stay and help her with whatever troubled her, but that was not possible. She would, however, entrust her to Sarah’s capable care. And of course Eliza would pray for her daily. For all these people she’d come to love.

Finally, the dockmaster arrived—a short man with a corpulent belly and a wide straw hat. He leaped on board from a small boat rowed out by Negroes, who were stripped to the waist, their ebony skin shimmering in the sun. After inspecting the hold, he, Captain Barclay, the first mate, James, and Blake disappeared into the captain’s cabin for what seemed an eternity. An eternity in which the sun became even more oppressive, boiling the pitch out of the deck seams and extracting an equal amount of sweat from each passenger. Eliza went below to gather a few things to go ashore but found her cabin akin to an oven and quickly returned to the breezes above.

Since they were only to stay in Rio a short while before they set sail for their new land, Eliza saw no reason not to join the others ashore. It would give her time to explain her decision to her friends. To Blake. Besides, she longed to set foot on dry land again and to see more of this wondrous city.

Soon the men emerged from the captain’s cabin. And after shaking hands, the dockmaster whistled to a group of men waiting at the docks alongside boats, sending them leaping to task and rowing out to retrieve the passengers. Within an hour, Eliza, along with Angeline, Sarah, and several other passengers bumped against the wharf pilings and were assisted onto land by several Negroes, who seemed none too inhibited to stare straight into Eliza’s eyes. Other people, some white, some black, and some in all shades in between came to greet them. The men wore white trousers, broadcloth frock coats, and black silk hats, while the women, all with black hair and fine eyes, wore brightly colored skirts and blouses. And all of them strode about barefooted. They chattered in Portuguese and other languages Eliza couldn’t place and extended hands to shake in greeting and fingers to stroke the newcomers’ arms and clothing.

Unsure of the proper response and uncomfortable with their familiar touches, Eliza thanked them, grabbed her valise, and hobbled down the dock toward dry land, not used to walking on the unshifting surface. She planted her foot on the sandy soil, raised her face to the sun, and drew a deep breath of tropical air. She was in Brazil. The land of new beginnings.

Unfortunately, those new beginnings were not for her.

Hefting a duffel bag over his shoulder, Blake headed down the cobblestone street, wishing more than anything he could spend time with Eliza alone. Was it his imagination, or had she been avoiding him since the vote yesterday morning? Even today she seemed aloof, reserved. He couldn’t imagine why. He thought she’d be thrilled to stay with the colonists—with him. Or at the very least, more appreciative. But perhaps he hadn’t given her enough time for the good news to settle firmly in her mind. Then with the dock mate’s arrival, he’d been too busy with paperwork to seek her out. And now there were far too many citizens and workers crowding the streets and threading through the throng, all gawking at the newcomers.

Negroes and mulattoes—men, women, and children of every shade, from the deepest black to the palest white—carried sugarcane, bananas, oranges, and other fruits and vegetables in huge baskets across their backs, and they thought nothing of bumping into others as they went along.

The smell of fish, sweat, and waste pricked Blake’s nose. He coughed, and his legs wobbled. James gripped his arm. “Steady there, mate. After being on the brig for nearly two months, it will take awhile to get our land legs again. I can hardly walk a straight line myself.”

Blake thanked him and ran a sleeve over his forehead. “That isn’t the only thing that will take some getting used to. This heat is unbearable.”

James glanced across the sky, which was devoid of clouds save for a dark patch on the horizon. “It’s still early in the afternoon. No doubt it will cool down later.”

“It’s not so much the heat as the humidity.” Blake leaped out of the way of a mule-drawn cart.

“Humidity or not, I’ll be glad to sleep in a bed tonight,” Hayden said from Blake’s other side.

“Let us pray this immigrants’ hotel has enough beds for us all.” Though Blake would be surprised if that were the case. The lodging was, after all, provided by the Brazilian government at no expense to the colonists until they signed all necessary papers and were deeded their new land.

“I doubt we’ll have anything but a straw tick.” James chuckled and rubbed his neck.

“Ah, come now.” Blake smiled. “The city seems quite civilized to me.” At least more civilized than he’d expected. He scanned the narrow street. Houses on either side sported brightly colored stucco and red-tiled roofs. Inhabitants sat on glassless window ledges while others peered around the corners at them. Gardens filled with colorful trellises and gilded, flower-strewn screens surrounded each building.

“See, look.” Blake pointed to a line of tramcars clacking over a track. “They even have a tramway.”

“But these roads are a disgrace.” Hayden squeezed between a passing wagon and the front of a house as thunder rumbled in the distance.

“My biggest concern”—Blake felt his jaw tighten—“is being able to convince the Brazilian immigration authorities to lend us money for land and supplies. At least until we can bring our first crops to market.”

“Thank God we still have some farm implements and seed left,” James said.

“But not enough,” Hayden added. “Do you think they’ll be generous? From the notices I read, it seemed they really wanted us here.”

“I hope so.” Blake ran a hand over his forehead with a sigh. “I’ve heard nothing but how benevolent the Brazilian government is. Now that we
are
here, let’s pray they see us as a worthwhile investment.”

James smiled. “Pray?”

“Figure of speech.” Blake snorted. “You pray. I’ll hope.”

“Peixe! Camaroes!”
The cries brought Blake’s gaze to Chinamen standing beside open carts filled with fresh fish and prawns. Beside them every imaginable fruit bounded from baskets lining thatched stands: bananas, mangoes, watermelons, pineapples, lemons, pears, and pomegranates. The sweet smell permeated the air, and Blake licked his lips. He hadn’t had fresh fruit in weeks. Other peddlers, bearing long bamboo poles over their shoulders with huge baskets filled with fruits and vegetables, wove through the mob with an ease that belied the enormous weight they carried. Hawkers conveyed clothing and jewelry in brightly painted trunks strapped to their backs. Naked children by their side, Negresses, wearing turbans, squatted on mats, selling fruit and vegetables. And in the midst of all the chaos, tiny monkeys and parrots of every color and plume squawked and chattered and flitted from stand to stand.

Blake couldn’t help but glance repeatedly behind him at the group of women. And in particular, to the luxurious maple-colored head bobbing among the crowd. Surely, with all their petticoats, the heat was getting to them, yet they seemed so enamored with their surroundings, they didn’t utter a single complaint. In fact, most of the colonists hobbled along, gazing at everything with wonder, offering no protests about the heat or the long walk, all except the Scotts, who seemed quite miserable, especially once the road began to ascend.