Blake chuckled. “It is nothing. I excelled at West Point’s training to rescue fair maidens.” He hobbled in step, hoping his awkwardness didn’t offend her.
She smiled. “Obviously. And a valuable skill it is. Along with commanding troops, organizing expeditions, manning ship’s guns, and assuming the role of first mate?” Her approving tone did much to sweep away his insecurities.
“I am at your service.” He dipped his head playfully.
She smiled and looked away, her face darkening as if the comment made her sad.
From the moment she’d come on deck, he’d been watching her every move, anxious to end his conversation with James about the price of land in Brazil and the viability of growing corn and cotton, meanwhile hoping she refused any offers to dance. However, when Mr. Graves and Mr. Dodd approached her, Blake excused himself abruptly.
Not that he thought she’d accept their offers, but because both men tended to make the women on board uncomfortable. Mr. Graves because of his unsociable demeanor and the sinister way he stared at everyone from afar and Dodd for his mad gold-hunting dreams and prurient glances toward the ladies.
Placing her gloved hand atop his, he twirled her about the deck. Between the music and laughter and all the spinning and stepping, conversation became impossible. He longed to speak with her in private. He must know her feelings. Though at the moment, Blake was the happiest of all men simply to be near her—to be the one touching her, the one to whom she cast her smiles. They danced a cotillion, a country dance, and then a quadrille. And when the musicians took a break, she stood by his side chatting with the other passengers.
Finally, he could stand it no longer. Begging everyone’s pardon, he led her to the larboard railing away from the crowd and fetched her a drink of whiskey-tainted water. Thank goodness, Eliza’s smallpox ruse had sent the Union sailors scrambling for the safety of their frigate before they absconded with every ounce of spirits on board, or the New Hope‘s passengers and crew wouldn’t be able to drink the stale water at all. A night breeze wafted over them, cooling the perspiration on Blake’s neck, as he strained to see Eliza’s features in the shifting lantern light. Why did his chest feel as though an army marched across it?
Eliza scanned the crowd. “Look, Hayden and Angeline are dancing. I’m so glad. I all but dragged her above. I do hope she has a good time.” Eliza prattled on as if she were nervous about something. Or worse, as if she were trying to avoid bringing up their earlier conversation.
She cast Blake a sly look. “I’m afraid Hayden received quite a tongue-lashing from Magnolia earlier.”
“Yes, I believe the entire ship heard.” Blake had actually felt sorry for the man. But he didn’t want to talk about Hayden or Angeline or Magnolia. He shifted his stance and gazed over the ebony sea. What was wrong with him? He’d commanded hundreds of men without batting an eye, but he couldn’t ask one woman to accept his courtship. Squaring his shoulders, he faced her and opened his mouth to speak when Eliza pointed upward.
A shooting star sped across the black expanse like a fiery rocket, drawing “oohs” and “ahhs” from the crowd. The brig jolted, and Blake took the opportunity to slip his arm around Eliza’s waist. To keep her from stumbling, of course. The promise of rain tinged the air, and the musicians packed up their instruments. Some of the passengers and crew went below. Blake’s throat went dry. He must ask her before she retired for the evening and it was too late. Before he had to live another moment in this agony. “Eliza.” He took her hands in his. “You never answered the question I posed earlier today.”
Eliza drew a nervous breath and glanced across the deck where only a dozen or so people remained. When had the music stopped? When had the couples gone below? She hadn’t noticed—she hadn’t noticed anything but the man before her.
He caressed her fingers, gently, expectantly. The wind rustled his coal-black hair. Lantern light speckled the stubble on his chin. His eyes found hers. She wished she could see them better in the darkness.
“You have me quite beguiled, Eliza. Tell me you feel something for me.”
Eliza squeezed her eyes shut, trying to sort through the jumble in her mind, trying to make the right decision. For once. She had only been married to a Yankee for a year. And she had never been accepted in his circle. Born and raised in Georgia, she was a Southern girl through and through. Did Blake need to know about that one short year? Couldn’t she just pretend it never happened? Oh how she longed to erase it from her memory. And her past!
Opening her eyes, she met Blake’s gaze, tinged with disappointment, no doubt at her delay in answering him. She hated to see him pained. Longed for joy to fill those wondrous gray eyes. “You know that I do, Blake. How could I not? Any woman would be thrilled to receive your affections.”
He blinked as if startled by her declaration. Then a wide grin split his lips, and he lifted her hand for a kiss. “I could never have hoped—” He swallowed. “Then you agree to a formal courtship?”
Against all sense, against everything within her screaming to tell him the truth, Eliza replied, “Yes.”
The joy, the hope returned to his eyes. He caressed her jaw with his thumb, gazing at her as if she were a precious jewel. Never had Stanton looked at her that way. Ever. Tremors of heat swept through her, igniting every sense, bringing back to life places in her heart long since dead. His thumb eased to her lips. And finally he moved in for a kiss.
A scream etched across the ship. Eliza jerked to see Magnolia slap a sailor across the cheek. The sharp crack of her hand on his faced shifted all eyes toward the altercation.
Excusing himself, Blake rushed to Magnolia’s side, as did several other gentlemen, including Hayden.
Eliza followed. The sailor backed away, rubbing his face. Anger pinched his weatherworn features as he pointed a finger at Magnolia. “She promised me.”
“She promised you what?” Captain Barclay stomped into the crowd, scattering it like buzzards on a carcass.
“A kiss,” the sailor said.
“I did … no such thing.” Magnolia wobbled and held her hands out, though the seas were mild.
Hayden clutched the man’s arm and jerked him aside. “How dare you assault a lady! He should be locked up below, Captain.”
“Wait.” Blake stepped forward. “Let’s find out what happened first before we go passing sentence.”
Magnolia’s eyes drifted hazily over the forming crowd.
“She said if I gave her a drink”—the sailor pulled a flask from his pocket and shook it—“she’d give me a kiss. She’s been bribin’ all the sailors out of their spirits tonight.”
“You, sir, are a scamp.” Magnolia pointed a finger in his direction, but her hand teetered back and forth. Giggling, she covered up her mouth and started to fall.
Releasing the sailor, Hayden reached out for her, but Eliza got there first. Better to get the lady below to her parents before she made a total fool of herself.
Chuckles filtered through the remaining crowd. Some of the passengers left, shaking their heads.
“Come now, Magnolia.” Eliza tugged her arm. “I’ll help you below.”
“I don’t want to go below!” She stomped her foot and swayed in the other direction.
James hooked her arm with his to keep her from falling as he gave Eliza a look of understanding. “But you must, miss. There’s a storm on the way.” He glanced above as light sprinkles fell.
“Aye, see that she sleeps it off.” The captain gave a hearty chuckle then faced the sailor. “Mr. Lenn, don’t be makin’ bargains for kisses again, or you’ll answer to me.” The sailor nodded as the captain barged back through the crowd, his pipe smoke filtering behind him.
Eliza and James tugged on Magnolia, but she stood her ground and began singing.
Blake heaved a sigh. “You may have to hoist her over your shoulder, James.”
“You will do no such thing. Do you know who I am? I am Magnolia Scott, daughter of Benjamin Scott, owner of the lar
gest plantation in Georgia!” Her eyes slithered over the crowd and landed on Eliza as if she’d just realized she held her arm.
“You.” She tugged from her grasp and raised a finger to her lips, smiling. “I know who you are.”
Eliza’s eyes widened, and she shook her head in warning.
Magnolia’s head bobbed atop her neck as if it sat on a spring. “Want to know a secret?” She laughed, first eyeing James beside her and then scanning the few people still on deck.
“No they do not. Now, come along.” Eliza grabbed her arm again.
“Mrs. Crawford is not her real name.” Magnolia gave a silly smile. “No no no.”
Eliza swept her desperate gaze to James. “She’s becoming delirious. It may be best to carry her below.”
James nodded and bent to gather her up when Magnolia took a step back. “She’s Flora Randal Watts”—she hiccuped—“wife of Brigadier General Stanton Watts of the Union army.”
CHAPTER 13
Eliza’s blood abandoned her heart. It sped away in a mad dash that left her cold and empty. She couldn’t move. Could barely breathe as everyone’s eyes snapped in her direction. Some of them registering shock. Others sparking with disdain.
Thunder cracked a fierce whip across the sky, and it began to sprinkle—drops tap, tap, tapping Eliza’s doom on the wooden planks of the deck. Three lines as deep as trenches split Blake’s forehead. “Is this true?”
Silence tiptoed around the raindrops as everyone held their breath, awaiting her answer. The ship heaved, and Magnolia stumbled. Hayden caught her before she toppled to the deck. She began to sing a ditty as if nothing were amiss and she hadn’t just destroyed Eliza’s life.
“I wish I was in the land of cotton,
Old times, they are not forgotten.…”
Wiping rain from her face, Eliza scanned the eyes locked on her like cannons on an enemy. The seas grew rough. Lantern light shifted over them in bands of silver and black—black like the bands on their arms, honoring lost loved ones. The blame for their deaths now cast at Eliza’s feet. Then suddenly rain pounded the deck. It slid down Eliza’s cheeks and pooled in her lashes until everything grew blurry. She wished they would all disappear. She wished she could melt into the deck. Anything but answer the question toiling on Blake’s face.
Magnolia continued to belt out her tune,
“Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.
In Dixie Land where I was born,
Early on one frosty morning …”
Of all the songs to sing now!
Eliza shifted her gaze to the edge of the crowd, where Angeline gave her a sympathetic look. The only one. She swallowed. Better to get it over with. Better to tell the truth, come what may. Wiping rain from her eyes, Eliza squared her shoulders. “Yes, it is true.”
“Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land,” Magnolia continued, instantly silenced by Hayden’s hand on her mouth.
Gasps sped through the crowd.
“Well, I’ll be …”
“I don’t believe it,” one woman exclaimed.
“A bloody Yankee in our midst!”
Max spit a brownish glob onto the deck near her feet.
Eliza lowered her gaze, not wanting to see the fury, the hatred in their eyes. Not wanting to see it in Blake’s.
Captain Barclay shoved through the crowd. “You best all get out of the rain. Looks to be a”—he froze when he saw their faces—“wet night.” He uttered the last words slowly as his gaze shifted to Eliza.
Mr. Dodd rushed toward her, eyes blazing. Eliza cringed, fearing he intended to push her overboard. Instead, he pointed a finger so close to her face she could smell the chicken stew he’d had for dinner. “Yankee whore. I say we toss her overboard.”
“I agree,” one of the farmers shouted. “The Yanks murdered my brother, stole our land! She deserves to die.”
“I lost everybody and everything in the war!” Max seethed.
Thunder boomed, confirming their assessment as “ayes” fired into the air.
“I don’t want no Yankee going to Brazil with us. Dash it! I’m going there to get away from them!”
Swallowing down the hard lump in her throat, Eliza finally dared a glance at Blake. He hadn’t moved. He still stared at her. Rain slid down his face and dripped from the tips of his hair onto his coat, melting away all the affection, the adoration of only moments ago. Replaced by a hatred so intense, she could feel it crackle in the air between them.
Magnolia slouched onto a barrel and lifted a hand to her head.
James and Hayden gaped at Eliza with disgust. A tear trickled down Angeline’s cheek. Or was it rain? Graves grinned at her from beyond the crowd.
Lightning flashed silver across the sky, distorting the men’s faces into demonic masks.
The blacksmith grabbed her arm and began dragging her to the railing. Others mobbed around her, pushing her from behind, nudging and shoving.
“No!” Angeline screamed. With elbows extended, the lady attempted to plow through the crowd, but they pushed her aside with ease.
Eliza’s mind spun. Terror seized her breath. She had expected anger, hatred even, but not this. Not being tossed into the sea. She didn’t even know how to swim. Not that it would matter in the middle of the ocean. Closing her eyes, she ceased struggling against the meaty grips, ceased listening to the hate-filled curses. Rain lashed across her back as if God Himself were punishing her. Perhaps He was.
“That’s quite enough!” Blake’s stern voice opened Eliza’s eyes. He shoved his way to the front of the mob and spread out his arms as if he could contain their advancing fury. “We aren’t murderers.”
“No, but she is!” one man yelled as the seething crowd halted. Rain did an angry dance on the deck and over the shoulders and heads of the venom-dripping throng—pelting and striking and spitting. It stung Eliza’s bare skin and soaked through her gown. She shivered. But not from the cold.
Captain Barclay took a spot beside Blake. “No one on my ship is tossing anyone overboard!”
Eliza tried to settle her thrashing heart. What had taken the man so long?
“Now what’s this about you bein’ a Yankee, Mrs. Crawford?”
Eliza tugged from the clawlike grips and rubbed her sore arms. Groans of disappointment ricocheted over her as the mob retreated, oscillating with the sway of the ship like a band of cannibalistic warriors dancing before a feast. Hugging herself, she drew a shredded breath. A mask of determination, of duty, had covered Blake’s face, hiding all emotion. But she knew he hated her. The loss of his affection extinguished her last spark of hope.
She raised her chin and met the captain’s gaze. “I am not Eliza Crawford. My name is Flora Watts.”
More curses punctured the air, followed by renewed admonitions to toss her overboard, but all were quickly silenced by a single shout from Blake.
The ship pitched over a wave, and Eliza nearly slipped. Water soaked through her only decent pair of satin slippers. When the mob grew silent, she continued. “However, I am not a Yankee. I was born and raised in Marietta, Georgia. My father is Seth Randal, a prominent lawyer. Our family owns the Randal Inn.”
Rain fell in buckets now. Most of the women ducked below. Yet the men remained, surrounding her like a lynch mob, water pouring off their hats in rivulets that pounded the deck like judges’ gavels pronouncing her guilt. They waited, stone faced and determined, for her to put the final nail in her own coffin.
So she did.
“But it is true that I married Stanton Watts, Brigadier General Stanton Watts, from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.”
Thunder shook the sky, sending a tremble through the ship.
“See! She’s a Yankee lover. A traitor to the Confederate states!”
One man spit on her, followed by another and another. Eliza squeezed her eyes shut. She supposed she deserved it. She had married a Union officer against her father’s wishes, against her family’s urgings. But Eliza always did what Eliza wa
nted to do. She always allowed her feelings to guide her—to toss and turn her like the waves were now doing to the ship.
“Where is your Yankee husband now?” one of the farmers demanded.
“He’s dead.” Eliza shouted over the roar of the rain and wind. “Died four years ago in the Battle of Fredericksburg.”
“And she did volunteer as a nurse in the war.” That was Blake’s voice. He was sticking up for her. It brought her gaze to him, but he still refused to look her way.
“Yeah, but for what side?” Dodd shouted.
“For the South, of course.” James gave her a nod.
The captain heaved a sigh, drew off his hat, and smacked it on his knee, splattering rainwater.
“I say we lock her up below,” Max, the ship’s boatswain, growled. “A prisoner of war.”
“We are not at war.” The hint of kindness in James’s tone sent a ribbon of warmth through her—just a tiny ribbon. At least they all didn’t hate her.
The rain worsened. More passengers scurried away, shaking their heads and muttering under their breath. Eliza wished they would all leave, for if she had to endure their hateful stares for another moment, her heart would surely crumble in her chest.
Angeline eased beside Eliza and wove her arm through hers. “It doesn’t matter who she married. She’s a good woman, a healer, and she’s as much a Southern lady as I or any of the other ladies on board are.”
James’s brow rose at the lady’s bold declaration. A declaration that seemed to stun the rest of them into silence. The deck teetered. Eliza’s legs turned to mush, and she leaned on her friend for support. But it was the care in Angeline’s eyes that renewed her strength.
Until Mr. Dodd sauntered to stand before her, his blond hair slicked back, rain dripping off his pointy nose and licking the gold chain hanging from his coat pocket. “We can’t just let her go. She’s the enemy!”
Angeline’s grip on Eliza tightened. “She’s no such thing!”
Blake stepped forward. “She will remain free until we reach Rio de Janeiro. Then we will send her back to Charleston with Captain Barclay.” He glanced at the captain. “If that’s agreeable to you, sir.”
Forsaken Dreams Page 14
