The colonel turned to her, but she couldn’t tell if the expression on his face was shock or admiration.
Mr. Scott gave an incredulous snort. “Start over! What nonsense. Start over from what? For what purpose?”
“I couldn’t agree more, sir.” Mr. Dodd took a mouthful of stew then dabbed a napkin over his lips. Tall, well-dressed, with blond hair, a lopsided, pointy nose, and deep blue eyes, one could almost consider the sheriff handsome. Even his manners and speech indicated good breeding. But something about the man gave Eliza the quivers. And not in a good way.
Mr. Scott nodded his approval toward Dodd.
The colonel cleared his throat. “As much as it may unsettle some of us, Mrs. Crawford is right. They are free as we are and must be treated with respect.”
“Respect? They were not created for respect.” Mr. Scott’s fork clinked a bit too loudly on his plate. “I say we drop them off at the nearest island.”
His wife’s gaze remained lowered, though a whimper escaped her lips. A breeze squeezed beneath the door, sputtering the candles and playing a symphony of lights and darks across the deckhead.
The colonel set down his glass. “We will do no such thing, Mr. Scott. And that is the end of it.” His commanding tone brooked no argument, and Eliza could see why men obeyed him. Even Mr. Scott seemed momentarily speechless, though she was sure the pleasant reprieve wouldn’t last.
Captain Barclay took a swig of wine, wiped his mouth with the tablecloth, and leaned back in his chair. “As much as I don’t approve of freeing the beasts, it is the way of things now. They are hardworking and will no doubt be an asset to your colony.”
Mr. Scott huffed his displeasure. Magnolia frowned and picked at her food.
Eliza wondered how the Scotts’ servant felt about the conversation, but when she glanced her way, her face was as bland as the stew they were eating. Did she know she could be free? Why hadn’t she left the Scotts? Eliza had heard that several slave owners had threatened to hunt down and kill any slaves who ran away. She hoped that wasn’t the case with this sweet girl, who looked to be no more than fifteen.
Angeline pushed food around her plate, oddly keeping her face turned from James, who sat beside her. Finally, she joined the conversation. “And what is your opinion, Parson Bailey? Does God have something to say about slavery?”
The parson’s scrawny shoulders rose. He set down his fork and took a drink, drawing out the moment. With a receding hairline, thick muttonchops, and tiny close-set eyes, he looked more like a mongoose than a man. A chuckle bubbled in Eliza’s throat at the comparison, and she hid her smile behind a napkin.
“The Bible says much about slavery, Miss Angeline. Slavery was well accepted in biblical times, even encouraged.”
James plopped a chunk of cheese into his mouth. “I beg to differ with you, Parson. Accepted, yes. Part of the culture of the day, indeed. But hardly encouraged. Not by God nor by Jesus. In fact”—he shot a glance over the table—“in the Jewish tradition, if a man was a slave to another, he was freed every forty-nine years during Jubilee.”
The parson’s face twisted in a knot. “And who are you, sir, to dare interpret scripture?”
“He is a preacher like yourself.” The colonel smiled.
“Indeed.” He turned condescending eyes on James. “From what church?
“My father pastored the Second Baptist Church in Knoxville, Tennessee. I took over the parish when I”—he coughed—“returned from the war.”
“Humph.” The parson wiggled his nose as if some unpleasant smell had invaded it. “Baptists, of course.”
James was about to respond when Mr. Dodd leaned forward and addressed Angeline. “I know you from somewhere, Miss Moore.”
Angeline choked on the first bite of food she had taken. She coughed into her napkin, not facing the man. “Mine is a common face, sir.”
“I would hardly agree with that!” James said so emphatically a few of the men chuckled. A blush rose up his neck, and Eliza smiled. Angeline was indeed a beauty. With hair the color of copper and violet eyes framed in thick lashes, she rivaled Magnolia in comely appearance. Yet unlike Magnolia, Angeline had a sweet demeanor about her and something else, a strength hidden by weakness.
Yet now, the poor girl seemed to be having trouble breathing. Eliza pressed a hand on her back.
“No, no, no.” Mr. Dodd nodded, still studying her. “I’m sure we have met. It will come to me in time.”
Angeline swallowed her meat and drew a deep shuddering breath as Eliza’s gaze swept to Magnolia. She felt the same way about the Southern belle—as if she’d seen her before. But where?
“I don’t see why we have to go to silly old Brazil anyway,” Magnolia said, drawing her lips in a pout. “The South will eventually rise again, and all my friends are still in Roswell.” Her eyes moistened as she glanced over the dinner guests, searching for an ally.
A growl emanated from Mr. Scott’s direction.
Mrs. Scott bit her lip and laid a hand on her daughter’s. “Now, dear, you know your father spoke to you about this.”
“Brazil is the new Eden!” Mr. Dodd exclaimed. “A paradise waiting to be harvested.” He leaned forward, a sly look in his eyes. “With plenty of gold, I hear.”
“Gold, humph.” James smirked, causing Dodd to go on rather forcefully. “Pirate gold, my good doctor, pirate gold. You’ll see.”
“Gold or not,” the colonel interjected, “it is a land of freedom and new opportunities, and Lord knows, after what we have all endured, we need both.”
“Here, here!” Captain Barclay slouched back in his chair and sipped his wine, assessing his guests. His gaze landed on Angeline who was still toying with her food. “Where are you from, Miss Moore?”
“Norfolk, Captain. My father was the owner of several shipyards there.”
“Norfolk?” Mr. Dodd exclaimed. “Then that’s where I’ve seen you. I was born in that fair city.”
At his statement, some of the tightness seemed to leave Angeline’s body.
“But you said was, Miss Moore,” the captain pressed.
“Yes. He’s deceased.” She paused to collect herself.
The table grew silent for a moment. Not even the clink of a fork or the slosh of drink. Nothing but the rustle of the sea against the hull and the gentle creak of wood.
Eliza laid a hand on Angeline’s arm. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She wanted to ask her if his death was due to the war but thought it best not to dig any deeper into the lady’s sorrow, especially in front of the others.
“The dear man is in heaven now.” Parson Bailey offered the expected platitude.
The colonel finished his last bite of stew and set down his spoon. “I’m sure there is not a person at this table who has not lost someone close to them in this horrendous war.”
Nods of affirmation and vacant eyes attested to the truth of his statement. All except Dodd, who cleared his throat and poured himself another glass of Madeira.
“Ah, Mr. Dodd,” Captain Barclay said, “perhaps you knew Miss Moore’s father?”
“No, I do not seem to recall a shipwright named Moore. However, I left town when I was but eighteen to pursue my profession.”
“Which was?” Mrs. Scott asked.
“I was a sheriff in Richmond for several years.” His shoulders rose.
Angeline broke into a fit of coughing. Her face turned red, and Eliza grabbed her arm and patted her back. “Hurry, something to drink,” she said.
The carafe of wine was passed, and Eliza poured some into her friend’s glass and held it to her lips. “Here, take a sip.”
Magnolia licked her own lips and grabbed the carafe, filling her cup.
“What are you doing?” Mr. Scott snatched the glass from his daughter’s hand. “Ladies do not drink. It is most unbecoming. And, for God’s sake, sit up straight.”
The poor girl straightened her spine immediately, placed both hands in her lap, and stared straight ahead as if she we
re a soldier.
Their eyes met, and Eliza saw an emptiness in them before they flashed in recognition. So the young woman remembered Eliza as well. A lump formed in her throat, and she prayed silently that her association with Magnolia had only been in passing. Otherwise, if the lady knew who Eliza had married, this trip would be over before it started.
At least for Eliza.
CHAPTER 6
Eliza was beyond exhausted. Many of the passengers had become seasick as the ship moved farther out to sea, and she’d done nothing but run back and forth from passenger to passenger, trying to ease their discomfort. Which of course she couldn’t really do. Thank God she had not succumbed to the debilitating condition herself. Although being forced to traverse the cramped bowels of the ship like a gopher caused her stomach to clamp so tight, it forbade all passage of food anyway. It grew even worse when she had to visit the hold where most of the passengers were berthed. And where most of those who were still ill groaned and moaned and gripped their stomachs in agony. All she had on hand to help relieve their symptoms were mint tea and words of comfort. But that seemed trite in light of what they suffered.
Now, as she made her way to the captain’s cabin to witness the stowaway’s interrogation by the captain and Colonel Wallace, despite her exhaustion, despite her hunger, her heart fluttered in her chest. Rebellious traitorous heart! Of course she’d seen the colonel on deck during these past three days, busy helping the captain, but they’d not had an opportunity to speak. Which was for the best, of course. Yet something about him tugged on her, drawing her thoughts and heart like the needle of a compass to true north. And as with a compass, there seemed to be naught she could do to change its direction.
Maybe it was the sorrow that seemed to hover about him like thick, dark clouds gorged with rain. She’d seen many men afflicted in the same way during her years as a nurse. She’d also seen some of them find relief by simply sharing their horrors, their heartache and pain, with someone who cared. Perhaps she could be that someone for the colonel. Strictly as a friend, of course.
Pressing down her blue tarlatan skirts, she squeezed through the corridor, thankful recent fashions had flattened the wide crinolette and moved it around back, or she might get stuck like a fat mouse in a maze in these narrow hallways. After knocking and hearing a call to enter, she opened the door and slipped inside the captain’s cabin. Her patient, the stowaway Hayden Gale, sat in a chair, looking none the worse for the pistol shot in his side. His long hair, the color of dark coffee, hung just below his collar, and though he pressed a hand over his wound, color had returned to his cheeks. Not an ounce of fear crossed his green eyes as he stared straight ahead at the captain.
To his left stood Colonel Wallace, arms crossed over his chest. His black string tie hung limp over his white shirt as if he’d done battle with it and lost. James was behind him, while two of the captain’s officers guarded either side of the desk. Magnolia and her mother sat in the far corner, and Parson Bailey leaned against the bookshelves, nose in the air. Absent their coats—no doubt due to the rising heat—the bands tied around the men’s arms appeared stark against their white shirts. Black bands that had become such a familiar, yet depressing, sight throughout the South this past year. Bands of mourning that represented a loved one lost in the war. Every man in the room had at least one, save Hayden. The colonel sported five as far as Eliza could tell. Five. Her heart went cold at the sight.
“Ah, there you are, Mrs. Crawford,” the captain said, shifting her attention his way. “We thought you should be here since Hayden is your patient.”
The colonel approached and gestured toward an empty chair by the Scotts, giving her a smile that sent her heart spinning again and making her wonder what he had looked like in his uniform. Quite handsome, she imagined.
“Now, Hayden, how did you come to be on my ship?” Captain Barclay leaned back in his chair, moving a pocket watch in between his fingers with astounding ease. Behind him, glittering shafts of morning sun bounced over the desk and the bulkheads, and over the stowaway, who snapped his hair from his face and huffed his displeasure at the question.
“As I told you, it was purely by accident. I got shot, became delirious, and wandered on board unwittingly.”
“Crawled all the way up a swaying plank and onto a ship, did you?” James snorted. “You must have been quite out of your head!”
“I was, sir.” Hayden gave the doctor a sardonic look then cocked his head in scrutiny. Seconds ticked by as the two men stared at each other, and Eliza began to wonder if perhaps they had met before. Although James seemed more annoyed than pleased. Then for no apparent reason, Hayden gave a hearty laugh and faced forward. “Yes Doctor. Quite delirious. And feverish, in fact.”
Eliza didn’t recall noting any fever, but she kept that to herself.
Magnolia stood and pointed a trembling finger his way. “I assure you, his assault on me was no accident!”
Hayden’s interested gaze took her in. “Princess, though your beauty may warrant such an action from a desperate man, I, myself, have never had to beg, force, or steal affections from any woman.”
A grin lifted the corner of Hayden’s lips as he continued to gaze at Magnolia. Eliza agreed. He was far too charming to have to beg for feminine attention. Not only was the man appealing to look at but he had a dark, mysterious quality about him that, coupled with a roguish charm, made him quite alluring. Magnolia, apparently, was not of the same opinion, for the Southern belle stomped her tasseled boot on the deck, her eyes seething. “You have your proof! He is a beast!”
Mrs. Scott drew her daughter into an embrace. “Captain, you must do something to ensure my daughter’s safety.” The deck tilted, sending the ladies back down to their seats and the gentlemen bracing their boots.
Parson Bailey gave Hayden a look of pity. “God can forgive any sin, son. You have only to ask.”
The colonel took a step toward Hayden. “What were you doing in Miss Scott’s cabin, sir?”
“I was searching for something with which to bandage my wound. What else would I be doing?” Hayden stretched his broad shoulders beneath what had once been a fine, silk-lined, wool coat but was now torn and marred with blood.
“Mrs. Crawford and I can vouch for his condition, Captain,” James offered, rubbing his chin. “He’d lost a significant amount of blood and could hardly stand.”
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t have vile intentions.” Mr. Scott’s jowls quivered with his pronouncement.
“The heart is inherently evil,” Parson Bailey added. A sail thundered overhead.
Hayden rolled his eyes. His jaw hardened beneath a sprinkling of dark stubble. “I did not mean to frighten the lady.”
“Very well.” Captain Barclay scratched his scraggly beard. “But there is the matter of why you were shot, sir.”
Hayden hesitated, staring at the canvas rug beneath his boots. “Tavern brawl.”
Magnolia huffed. “Mercy me. Does that not attest to his character?”
He gave her a sideways glance, a hint of a grin toying with his lips.
“That doesn’t answer the question.” The colonel’s commanding tone had returned.
“A misunderstanding.”
James rubbed the scar on his cheek. “Then why didn’t you seek medical aid?”
“Like I told you, I was delirious. I don’t even remember coming on board.”
“Very well.” Captain Barclay stood, opened and shut his pocket watch, then placed it on his desk. “There’s naught to be done about it now. I’m afraid you’re stuck with us, Hayden, all the way to Brazil. As soon as I drop off these fine people, I’ll take you back to Charleston if that is your desire.”
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.
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