“So you shot him?” the colonel barked.
“Of course not!” She huffed. “He was like that when he came in my cabin.”
The crowd grew silent, their gazes shifting from Magnolia to the wounded man as if trying to imagine how he could have pulled off such a feat.
“I doubt he could assault anyone, Miss Scott.” Eliza put voice to their thoughts as the captain barged through the mob and began spouting orders for the sailors to take the wounded man below.
“Do you have a sick bay, Captain?” Eliza stood.
“Aye, miss. But it’s small and has few medicines. My man, Wilkes, will take you down.”
“I’ll show her,” the colonel spoke up, dragging the doctor behind him.
Sinking down into the bowels of the ship once again, Eliza felt as though she were being smothered alive. At least the cabin in which the sailors put the wounded man was a bit larger than her own shared quarters, though not by much. They laid him in the center of the room on a wooden table that took up nearly the entire space, save for a cot, a work shelf, and a glass-enclosed cabinet sparsely stocked with bottles and vials. He groaned. Fear skittered across his green eyes. The doctor and the colonel entered behind her.
“I need a bowl of freshwater and some clean cloths,” the doctor said to the sailors as they were leaving. “Remove his shirt, if you please, Miss, Miss …”
“Mrs. Crawford,” the colonel interjected. “She’s the nurse I told you about.” He lit a lantern and hung it on a hook on the deckhead.
Eliza began unbuttoning the man’s shirt. “Only a volunteer nurse. No formal training.” The metallic odor of blood filled the air.
“The war?” the doctor asked.
She nodded, removing the soaked cloth.
“Then that’s all the training you need.”
“I did not … assault.…” The wounded man spoke, his voice strained and weak.
“Don’t worry about that now.” Eliza brushed strands of dark hair from his face. “We’re going to remove the bullet and dress your wound.”
“How did you get shot?” the colonel asked.
Oddly, the doctor remained at a distance. “And by whom?” he added.
The man had no answer.
“It didn’t happen on board.” Eliza examined the bloody opening. “Looks to be a day old at least.”
The deck canted, and she gripped the table as the lantern sent waves of light over the patient. She didn’t envy the doctor. It would not be easy to operate under these conditions. She faced him, awaiting his next command. He ran a hand through his brown hair streaked in gold and shifted his broad shoulders beneath a cutaway coat. The masculine lines of his chin quivered, stretching the scar angling down the right side of his mouth. But it was his eyes that drew her. The color of bronze. They would be striking except for the terror flashing across them at the moment.
“We must remove the bullet,” the doctor said numbly as the sailors returned with the basin of water and cloths.
Eliza knew that much. Grabbing one of the cloths, she pressed it against the oozing gash. The man groaned, the sound joining the creak of timbers as the ship plowed through the sea.
The doctor gestured toward the wound, his eyes on the bulkhead. “You’ve dealt with these before, Mrs. Crawford, have you not?”
“I’ve assisted, but I’ve never extracted a bullet myself.” It was then that she noticed his hands shaking. Which caused her pulse to rise.
“Then I will supervise,” he said.
Colonel Wallace glared at him. “I agreed to your passage because you were a doctor, James.”
“And I did not lie to you. I am a doctor. I simply haven’t”—he halted and ground his teeth together—“I don’t perform surgery anymore. Not since I left the battlefield. I told you I’m a preacher now. Been preaching the Word of God for the past two years.”
“So, Preacher”—the colonel’s tone was biting, his eyes raging—“you’re telling me we have no doctor. No one to fix the broken bones and heal the diseases that will be inevitable in the jungles of Brazil?”
James took a deep breath in an effort to compose himself then flattened his lips. “I did not mean to mislead you, Colonel. I can instruct Mrs. Crawford. She can be my hands. But that is all I can offer you besides counsel in spiritual matters.”
“What the dickens—I already have a parson aboard!” The colonel took up a pace while a look of contrition folded onto the doctor’s face.
Eliza swallowed as the realization set in. She glanced at her patient. His fate rested in her hands and her hands alone.
CHAPTER 5
Blake ran a comb through his hair and studied his reflection in the cracked mirror hanging on the bulkhead of his cabin. A fleeting question regarding his sudden interest in appearances taunted his mind, but he already knew the answer. It was the lovely Mrs. Crawford and his expectation of seeing her within moments in the captain’s cabin. It was why he had washed the grime from his face and donned a clean shirt and waistcoat. He only wished he had more fashionable attire and perhaps some of that bergamot or cedar cologne women seemed to love. But he had no such thing—he was a simple man with simple tastes.
Except, he realized with surprise, when it came to Mrs. Crawford.
There was nothing simple about her. After the good doctor had declared his inability to operate, she had gone to work, steady-handed and determined, moving like a fine-tuned instrument beneath the doctor’s instructions. Only her trembling voice gave away her fear. Still, she had continued until the bullet was removed, the wound stitched, and the patient resting.
Where other women would have swooned at the horrors of digging through human flesh, she performed her duty with courage, a courage Blake had not often seen, even on the battlefield. That any woman could endure the nightmare she no doubt suffered as a war nurse only made him respect Mrs. Crawford all the more. That any woman who’d lost her husband, who was alone in the world, would venture to an unknown land to start a new life only increased that rising respect.
And did he mention she was also beautiful? Not in a Magnolia Scott stunning sort of way, but in the kind of beauty found in a field of flowers: delicate yet strong. Fresh, uncontainable, and wild.
His cabinmate, the good doctor—or should he say preacher—entered, hat in hand and hair tossed about his face, severing Blake’s musings. James heaved a sigh. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me, Blake.” He tossed his hat onto the table. “I did not mean to deceive you. I knew you already had a parson and wouldn’t sign another. So, once I discovered a nurse had joined the venture, I knew she could be my hands.”
Blake stared at him through the mirror before turning around. The ship rolled over a wave, and he leveled himself against the shifting deck. “And what if there had been no nurse on board?”
“I wouldn’t have signed up.” James shrugged. “I would have sought another ship. One that needed a pastor.” He dropped into a chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “In truth, I didn’t want to wait for the next ship. I wanted … no, needed, to leave everything behind.”
A sentiment Blake could well understand. “Regardless”—he huffed—“you’ve left these colonists in a rather precarious situation.”
“I still have the knowledge up here.” James poked his head and gave a sheepish grin. “It’s the hands that don’t work anymore.”
Blake rubbed his eyes and sighed, listening to the rush of seawater against the hull. It did much to soothe his nerves. “Well, I’m thankful Eliza could handle things.” He studied his new friend for a moment, noting the way he clasped his hands together before him and stared at them as if they were foreign objects. “What’s wrong with them?”
“I can’t seem to stop them from shaking. Been like that since I left the assault on Petersburg in ‘84.”
“Petersburg? I was there. Got a bullet in my leg to prove it.”
James snorted. “Odd that it might have been me who tended your leg, but I don’t rememb
er.”
“But you said you left?”
James nodded, his gaze still lowered.
“We won that battle,” Blake said.
A moment passed in silence. “Still we lost nearly three thousand men that day.” The trembling in James’s hands increased. He clamped them together. “I couldn’t stand it another minute. The blood, the agony, the mutilation of so many young men. Boys, really. I had to get away. So I ran away. Threw myself back into God’s arms, into the preaching my father planned for me to do all along.” He finally glanced up, a haunted look in his eyes, and rubbed the scar on his cheek. “But even that didn’t help. Brazil is my last hope.”
Emotion burned in Blake’s throat. How many times had he felt like running away from the war, the stress and horror of battle after battle? But he was a colonel. His regiment depended on him. He had to do his duty. As a civilian doctor, James’s situation was different. He’d dealt with amputated limbs and disgorged bowels and anguish and death all day and night with nothing but conscience to keep him at task. How could Blake blame him for leaving when he doubted conscience and duty would have been enough to keep him in such a hell?
He liked James. Straightforward, honest, humble. Blake had commanded enough men to recognize strength and goodness in a man’s eyes. Besides, he could hardly fault James for trembling hands when Blake had his own visions and blackouts. “Brazil is the last hope for many of us,” he finally said, his tone softening. Smiling, he gripped James’s shoulder then grabbed his coat from a hook on the wall. “Come along, the captain will be waiting on us. I, for one, am looking forward to our first meal on board the ship.”
James rose, straightened his string tie in the cracked mirror, and followed Blake down a long corridor and up a hatch where they emerged onto the main deck to a blast of wind and a magnificent starlit sky. Both stole Blake’s breath away. Catching his balance on the rolling deck, he halted and gazed up at the million glittering diamonds spread across a black velvet curtain.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” James said.
“Indeed.”
All seemed quiet on deck. Most of the sails had been lowered and furled for the night, keeping only topsails faced to the wind. The first mate stood at the helm. Other passengers mulled about, but it was Mr. Graves, the ex-politician, who drew Blake’s attention. He leaned over the starboard railing, cigar in hand, babbling something at the sea. Blake hoped the man wasn’t mad. He had chosen him for his knowledge of government, which they would desperately need as their colony grew into a city. But it wouldn’t do to have a lunatic organizing things.
It also wouldn’t do to be pursued by a Union ship. The dark horizon offered Blake no glimpse of what dangers lurked beyond even as the smell of gunpowder still haunted his nose from his close encounter leaving Charleston. Still, the Union had better things to do than chase down one war criminal. And if Blake’s memory served, there were no navy ships anchored in Charleston ready to depart at a moment’s notice. The war was over, after all.
Shrugging off his worries, Blake hurried up the quarterdeck and down the companionway to the captain’s cabin, where he was greeted by the fragrant scents of mutton stew, cheese, and buttered rice. His stomach growled. Far too loudly, for everyone in the room swept their gazes his way.
But it was only one gaze he was interested in. And her golden eyes sparkled when they met his.
Eliza hoped the captain had invited Colonel Wallace to dinner. She so wanted a chance to get to know him better. Now as he stood in the doorway, looking quite dashing in his suit of brown broadcloth, she could hardly take her eyes off him. He limped into the room with more authority than most did without disabilities to impede them. She lowered her gaze, hoping he hadn’t noticed her staring at him, hoping he didn’t find her too bold, and wondering if she hadn’t lost her mind. After Stanton, Eliza wanted nothing more to do with marriage. She found the institution confining, restricting, and far too empty of the promises of love and romance she’d read about in Jane Austen novels. She had also found that she wasn’t good at it. To even think of entertaining attentions from a man could only lead to disaster and heartache for them both. No, all she wanted was to escape her past and start over in a community in which she could use her nursing skills to help others. Then why, oh why, did Colonel Wallace affect her so? He was a Rebel officer! Of all the men on the ship, he was the one man she should avoid at all costs.
Introductions and greetings abounded between those in attendance: Mr. and Mrs. Scott, the wealthy plantation owners, and their daughter, Magnolia; Eliza’s cabin mate Angeline Moore, whom she’d had to all but drag out of the cabin to attend; a man Eliza hadn’t met, Mr. Dodd who was a sheriff from Richmond with an apparent problem keeping his eyes off the ladies. Then there was James Callaway, the doctor, of course, and Parson Bailey, who seemed too tiny a man to evoke fear of damnation from the pulpit.
A slave girl stood against the bulkhead behind the Scotts. Across from her, squeezed between a large chest and enclosed bookshelves stood two sailors awaiting commands.
Everyone took a seat around the table laden with bowls of stew, various cheeses, rice, and platters of biscuits and greens. Much to her delight, Colonel Wallace pulled a chair out for her right beside his own. The doctor, or should she say preacher, held out a chair for Angeline, placing her beside Eliza while he took the seat on her other side. Angeline thanked him and slid onto her chair, but her tone was strangled and her normally rosy cheeks had gone stark white as her gaze flitted between the doctor and Mr. Dodd.
Eliza laid a hand on her arm and gave her a concerned look, but the girl waved her off with an attempted smile.
The parson said grace in a rather loud and oversanctimonious tone that grated over Eliza, though she quickly reproved herself. She shouldn’t think poorly of a man of God. Yet before he’d even intoned his lengthy “Aaaaaaaamen,” the captain had already scooped a healthy portion of rice onto his plate.
“We won’t be dinin’ so well for the remainder of the trip, I’m afraid.” Captain Barclay glanced across the table. Though his voice was as rough as rope and his face wore the age of the sea, his demeanor was pleasant and his eyes kind. “But I thought for our first night, it would do well to enjoy a hearty meal with some of my guests.”
The ones paying for a cabin, from the looks of things. All except Sarah, who had begged off with an excuse of an unsettled stomach.
“How fares this stowaway of ours?” the captain asked.
“His name is Hayden Gale, Captain,” Eliza offered, grabbing a biscuit from a passing platter. “At least that’s the name he gave me in his delirium.”
Through the stern windows behind the captain, moonlight cast sparkling pearls over the ocean, swinging in and out of Eliza’s vision with the rock of the ship. How the plates and bowls managed to stay on the table was beyond her, but aside from a little shift here and there, they were as sturdy as sailors under heavy seas. Candles showered the linen tablecloth, pewter plates, mugs, and silverware with flickering light, creating a rather elegant dining table for being out to sea.
“And he isn’t on the passenger list, Colonel?” the captain asked.
“No sir.” The colonel took the plate of biscuits from Eliza. Their fingers touched, and a spark jolted up her arm. His eyes shot to hers, playful and inviting. She looked away. Oh fiddle! He knows how he affects me!
“Of course the miscreant isn’t on the manifest!” Magnolia scowled and turned down a bowl of corn her mother passed. “I told you he attacked me in my cabin. He’s nothing but a lecherous swine!” She sniffed, and Eliza got the sense the girl’s histrionics were purely for show. Her mother threw an arm around her and drew her close. “There, there, now.”
Mr. Dodd looked as though he wanted to hug the girl himself, though not for the same reasons, Eliza was sure.
“Well, we can’t be turnin’ the ship around now.” The captain chomped on a biscuit, crumbs scattering across his full gray beard. “If he has money, he can pay. If not,
he can work.”
Eliza helped herself to some greens and handed the dish to Angeline, who passed it on, staring numbly at her plate as if in a trance.
“You can’t seriously allow him to join us. He could be a criminal!” Magnolia twirled a lock of hair dangling at her neck, candlelight firing in her sapphire-blue eyes.
The brig canted, sending a brass candelabrum and several plates sliding over the white tablecloth. The creak and groan of wood seemed the only answer to the young lady’s outburst.
Until the colonel spoke up. “Never fear, Miss Magnolia. I’ll have a chat with him when he recovers. We will get to the bottom of this. I won’t allow any harm to come to you”—he glanced at Eliza—“or anyone aboard this ship.”
Eliza tore her gaze from his as the warmth of being cared for flooded her—a feeling she hadn’t felt in years.
“Magnolia!” Mr. Scott all but shouted, startling Eliza. “Quit fiddling with your hair. It’s a disgrace as it is.” He glanced back at the slave girl as if Magnolia’s coiffure were her fault, failing to notice that his daughter melted into her chair at his admonishment. Facing forward again, he adjusted the jeweled pin on his lapel as a scowl deepened the lines curving his mouth. “And speaking of harm, I had no idea I would be traveling with freed Negroes.” His gaze shot to the captain. “I simply must protest.”
The stew soured in Eliza’s stomach. “They are freedmen now, Mr. Scott.” She abhorred slavery, always had. Though her father had treated their slaves with kindness, her aunt and uncle, who had taken over the hotel after her father’s law practice became successful, had not. Now that the war was over and the Negroes were free, she wondered if they were any better off, for she’d heard that nothing but lynch mobs and starvation awaited them.
“It is the law now.” The captain shoved a spoonful of rice into his mouth, but Eliza got the impression his sentiments lay more with Mr. Scott’s.
“They have a right to start over just as we do,” Eliza added.
Forsaken Dreams Page 5
