Forsaken Dreams (9 page)

Hayden shifted in his seat and glanced over those present, his eyes softening for the first time since Eliza had entered. “I wouldn’t mind trying my luck out in Brazil, seeing what she has to offer.”

“She has nothing for you, I’m afraid.” The colonel’s gray eyes hardened around the edges. “You have not paid for your voyage, nor have you passed the criteria for joining our new society.”

Hayden chuckled then clutched his side with a wince. “Zooks, what criteria? I’m strong and capable. You’d be fortunate to have me.” The ship suddenly bucked over a wave, causing those standing to stumble. The parson struck the bulkhead with a thud.

“Not if you’re a thief or murderer.” Mr. Scott stiffened his jaw.

“Or a ravager of women,” Magnolia spat.

Hayden snorted. “So what’s it to be? Clapped in irons and locked below for the entire voyage?”

“That’s for the captain to decide.” The colonel deferred to Captain Barclay with a gesture.

The old sea dog circled his desk, stuffing his watch into a pocket. “When you’ve recovered from your wound, you may prove your strength and capability by joining my crew. That way you can at least pay for your passage.”

Hayden flinched. “I know nothing about sailing.”

“You’ll learn quickly.” The captain winked at his two officers, one of whom chuckled.

“I suppose I have no choice.” Flattening his lips, he released a sigh. “Though, the work is beneath me.” He tugged at his cravat, the lace of which was not only out of style but stained.

“And just what is your normal enterprise, Mr. Hayden?” Eliza spoke up, though she had yet to make up her mind about the man.

Eyes the color of jade assessed her. “Investments, Mrs. Crawford. I deal in land and commodities, foreign and domestic.”

Something in the quirk of his lips and flash of his eyes made her wonder if he was being forthcoming.

Colonel Wallace shifted his boots over the deck and glared at the man. “If you so much as look at a lady for more than two seconds, or if I find anything missing on this voyage, I won’t hesitate to feed you to the sharks.”

Instead of cowering beneath the colonel’s authority, Hayden gazed up at him, a playful sparkle in his eyes. “Such drastic measures, Colonel. Won’t I even get a trial?”

“God sees all things done in the darkness,” Parson Bailey interjected.

“I’m the law here,” the colonel replied.

Hayden sat back in his chair with a huff. “You won’t have any trouble from me.”

This seemed to satisfy all present, except the Scotts, who approached the captain’s desk spewing further complaints. The captain dismissed them with a wave and a hearty declaration that all would be well, sending them leaving in a stew of huffs and “I nevers.” Just as quickly, he released Eliza, the parson, and Hayden with the excuse that he needed to discuss business with James and the colonel. The latter glanced forlornly at her as she left the cabin, his eyes full of promise. Was he as disappointed as she was at not having a chance to speak to each other? Or perhaps God was protecting her from her own foolish heart—a heart that had led her astray once before.

Just as Eliza was leaving, a sailor brushed past her and barreled into the cabin. “Captain, the compass is crushed. Broken clean through.”

Her ears burning from the resultant curses behind her, Eliza headed toward the galley for some tea, wondering who would destroy a compass and why.

With a hot cup in hand, she finally entered her cabin to the moans and groans of Sarah, swinging in her hammock. The poor dear had also succumbed to the cruel whip of mal de mer, and Eliza hated that she couldn’t do more to ease her suffering. Halting beside the pregnant woman, she wiped sweaty strands of hair from a face as white as the foamy wake off the stern. The foul stench of sickness emanated from the chamber pot on the table.

Slipping an arm behind Sarah’s back, Eliza helped the woman sit, bunching pillows behind her and lifting the cup of mint tea to her lips. Her gaze wandered past the sunlight winking off Sarah’s gold cross down to her distended belly, so round and firm with child, and a sad thought jarred Eliza. She would probably never have children.

When she’d first married Brigadier General Stanton Watts, she’d hoped to have a houseful. She could still see him standing at the altar the day of their wedding in his crisp blue uniform with sparkling brass buttons and the single gold star adorning his shoulder board, denoting his elevated rank. So handsome! At that moment, she’d believed she was the luckiest girl alive. That was until news of war interrupted their honeymoon.

After depositing her at his family home in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, he’d thundered away on his horse to meet with a Union war council. During the next year, she’d only seen him twice when he’d made brief visits to their home and even briefer visits to their bed. Then he was gone forever, leaving her a widow at only nineteen.

She doubted she’d ever marry again.

Sarah sipped her tea, the sweet mint fragrance rising to sweep away Eliza’s foul memories.

“Oh my, your face looks a fright!” Sarah breathed out between gulps. “The way you are staring at my stomach as if the child will burst through at any moment. I assure you”—she ran a hand over the bulge—“she isn’t ready yet.”

“Forgive me.” Embarrassed, Eliza snapped from her daze and withdrew the cup. “It’s just that I have always wanted children.” She blinked. “Wait. You said, ‘she.’ How do you know?”

“I just know.” Sarah caressed her belly with fingers born to love a child.

Eliza set down the cup. “Well, you needn’t worry. I’ve delivered wee ones before. And the doctor is more than experienced, I should imagine.”

Yet it was another voice that answered. “Yes indeed. James does seem more than competent.” Angeline burst through the door, her face aglow with sun and wind, and her voice cheery.

When both ladies gaped at her, she lowered her lashes. “I meant to say, he seems highly intelligent. And kind.” She brushed a curl from her forehead and frowned, her mood shifting as rapidly as the rays of sunlight through the porthole. “Which surprises me, actually.”

Eliza and Sarah’s stares turned into smiles, causing Angeline to continue babbling. “He makes a better doctor than a preacher, I think.”

“How would you know such a thing? Are you acquainted with the man?” Eliza asked.

Angeline’s eyes widened, and she let out a little laugh. “Of course not. No. I’ve never … no, no. Of course not.”

Eliza helped Sarah lie back down, perplexed at Angeline’s sudden nervousness.

Which abandoned the lady when she heard Sarah groan. Dashing to the hammock, Angeline squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry you are sick. You must be miserable.”

As though on cue, the deck seesawed, sending the hammock swinging and both Eliza and Angeline stumbling. Sarah threw a hand to her mouth, her face blanching, and Eliza quickly grabbed the chamber pot, but the woman waved it away.

Though Eliza had never been seasick, she knew from her experience these past three days how debilitating it must be. Men, far stronger than Sarah, had been reduced to whimpering sacks below decks, while she, on the other hand, put them all to shame with her kind smile and noncomplaining attitude. Even now she squeezed Angeline’s hand and said, “Don’t concern yourself with me. I’ll be well soon enough.”

Releasing Sarah’s hand, Angeline stepped toward the porthole, where sunlight dusted her hair in waves of fiery copper.

Eliza was reminded of James’s interest in the girl. Fiddle, if Eliza couldn’t get married, she could certainly aid in finding agreeable matches for her friends. “Doctor or preacher, I do believe James has taken notice of you.”

“Me?” Angeline gave a nervous chuckle. “No.” She sank into a chair, her shoulders lowering. “He is simply kind to everyone.”

Eliza raised a brow. She’d seen the way the doctor looked at Angeline at dinner and then several times on deck. “We shall see. And you”—she dabbed a moist cloth on Sarah’s head—“I don’t want you fretting over your upcoming delivery.”

The woman gave a weak smile. “I’m not worried. God is with me, Eliza. He has never let me down.”

Eliza nodded. God had been faithful to her as well, though she had not always been faithful to Him. Still, she wondered how this woman could say such a thing when she was about to bring a child into the world with no husband to care for them.

Sarah’s gaze traveled between Eliza and Angeline. “Since I’m sure you are both wondering, my husband, Franklin, fought with the Sixth Georgia Volunteer Infantry.” She paused and ran a hand over her extended belly, sorrow clouding her features. “After the war ended, he came home a different man. Wounded more on the inside than on the outside.”

Eliza swallowed down a burst of angst at what the woman would say next. She reached for her hand.

“He hung himself in our barn just last Christmas.”

Angeline gasped.

Moisture flooded Eliza’s eyes.

Yet Sarah’s expression was full of peace. “Don’t look so sad. He’s doing far better than we are now. I miss him, but I’ll see him again.”

Angeline’s brows scrunched. “How can you know for sure?” When both Eliza and Sarah once again stared at her, she bit her lip. “Please forgive me, Sarah. I’m sure your husband is in heaven. It’s just that … that”—she gazed out the porthole—“I fear my faith has slipped away over the years.”

“We shall have to rectify that, shan’t we, Eliza?” Sarah said.

Ignoring the woman’s declaration, Angeline jumped to her feet. “Oh sweet saints, I almost forgot. Mr. Scott is reading portions of
Hunting a Home in Brazil
on deck. The air is clear and fresh, and it may do Sarah well to go above.”

When they all agreed, Eliza and Angeline assisted Sarah out of the hammock, into a simple gown, and up the companionway ladder. A group of passengers huddled around Mr. Scott, who sat atop a barrel, reading from an open book. The constant bucking of the deck tried to disband the mob, but they clung as steadfastly to each other as they did to every word the old plantation owner uttered. Words that, through the sieve of wind, wave, and the thunder of sail, reached Eliza as naught but garbled grunts. The deck rose then dropped, nearly toppling the ladies and sending salty mist over their faces. Shaking it away, Eliza finally managed to settle Sarah against the railing closer to Mr. Scott, where they all could hear him better.

Wind gusted over them, sneaking beneath their skirts and puffing out the fabric until they appeared like three lacy bells dancing on the deck. In fact, as Eliza took in the scene, all the women’s skirts were similarly bloated. Restraining a chuckle at the sight, she held her hat down and endeavored to hear Mr. Scott when she spotted the colonel on the quarterdeck beside Captain Barclay. He stood, hands clasped behind his back, with as much authority as if he were captain of the ship. His gaze shifted to her, and she thought she saw a smile touch his lips before the captain leaned to say something to him. No doubt the compass had either been repaired or replaced, for neither the captain nor the sailors seemed alarmed.

James, the good doctor, stood across the deck talking with a sailor, but his eyes had already found Angeline. Beside him, Mr. Graves, his ebony hair tossed in the wind, leaned against the starboard rail, puffing on a cigar and assessing the crew and passengers with the disinterested attachment of one watching a play.

“Have you been to Brazil?” one of the passengers asked Mr. Scott, drawing Eliza’s gaze away from the distressing man.

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure. But it says right here that Brazil is a Garden of Eden. A paradise of temperate weather, abundant fruit, and rich soil.”

One of the women clapped her hands in delight.

“And the land’s only twenty-two cents an acre!” another man shouted.

“An’ there ain’t no Yankees!” a man beside him said, eliciting a round of applause.

“Yes.” Mr. Scott closed his book. “Rivers as wide as cities and filled with all manner of fish, and flowers as big as my hand that smell sweeter than a Georgia peach.”

“May God bless our journey and our new colony.” Parson Bailey, ever-present Bible clutched to his chest, gazed up at heaven as if the Almighty would shower him with good fortune at that very moment. Instead, the deck tilted and he staggered.

“And we can have slaves if we want,” a man shouted, causing a few uncomfortable glances to find Moses and his sister standing up on the foredeck. Up until that point, the black man’s face had been beaming at the descriptions of Brazil, but now he merely stared at the crowd without expression. Eliza found his courage admirable for a man who only a year ago would have been whipped for looking a white man in the eyes. Delia, his sister, however, lowered her gaze and gathered her children into her skirts.

“But you will
not
enslave Mr. Moses and his sister.” Colonel Wallace’s thunderous voice blared with authority as he leaped down the quarterdeck ladder and approached the group. Even with his limp, his gait reminded Eliza of the prowl of a lion. Mr. Scott scowled and dabbed a handkerchief over his brow.

“He has been freed and will remain free,” the colonel added, fists on his waist. “However, I’m told you will be able to purchase slaves once we are on Brazilian soil if you have the intent and the coin. They allow no importation of slaves.”

“What about Mr. Scott?” The blacksmith jerked a thumb toward the elderly plantation owner. “He has that slave girl with him.”

Mr. Scott stuck out his chin. “She is my daughter’s lady-in-waiting. Nothing more.”

Eliza wondered if that was true. She’d not seen the girl do anything but shadow the spoiled woman since she’d come aboard.

One of the farmers removed his hat and dabbed the sweat on his brow. “What happens when we arrive, Colonel? How do we know where to buy land?”

The deck jerked to larboard, and Colonel Wallace shifted his weight from his bad leg. “We will sail into Rio de Janeiro, where we will meet with Brazilian authorities, perhaps even the emperor himself.”

Gasps and glances sped through the crowd.

“I’m told,” he continued, “they will assist us with scouts and interpreters to help us choose the best land.”