Captain Barclay nodded, slapping his hat back atop his head and holding up a hand against Dodd’s further protests.
“Then it’s settled.” Blake gestured for the crowd to disperse. “Now go on, get below out of the rain.”
Grunts of disappointment followed the remaining colonists as they slowly obeyed. Hayden helped a swaying Magnolia toward the stairs. Eliza knew she should feel hatred toward the woman, but at the moment she felt nothing at all.
Nothing but agony.
Without a single glance her way, Blake hobbled toward the hatch and dropped out of sight.
Only Angeline remained by Eliza’s side.
Lightning flashed. The ship heaved, and the women clung to each other to keep from falling. But Eliza no longer cared. In fact, she wished she would fall over the railing into the churning sea. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks as Angeline swung an arm around her, holding her against the wind and the rain, saying nothing, until finally she led Eliza below.
The next morning, as dawn broke, a flicker of promise, of hope, teased Blake’s groggy mind. Memories of dancing with Eliza, of her agreeing to a courtship paraded through his thoughts, scattering joy like confetti. Until reality came crashing down on him, treading those glittering scraps underfoot. She had betrayed him. Used him. Lied to him. Even worse, she had nearly caused him to betray everything and everyone dear to him. Especially his brother. Anger chased his sorrow back into the dark corners where it belonged. Where it would stay. He would not defile the memories of his family by spending a second mourning the loss of Eliza.
He would not.
After climbing out of his hammock and getting dressed, Blake dragged himself onto the main deck. If only to get away from James’s constant badgering. Blake would have expected the doctor to share his fury about Eliza’s deception, about her relation to a man who had issued orders that murdered so many young Southern men. Especially after the doctor had witnessed the result of those orders firsthand. But perhaps James was more preacher than doctor as he proclaimed, for his forgiveness had come swiftly on the heels of Eliza’s confession.
A confession she would not have offered had her ruse not been uncovered by Miss Magnolia.
And Blake would still be pursuing a courtship with a woman who was his enemy.
Fisting his hands, he emerged to a shaft of bright sunlight that was quickly gobbled up by a dark cloud. One sweep of the horizon revealed seas as agitated as his stomach. Foamy sheets of dark water soared then sank as they raced across the wide expanse as if trying to escape some upcoming disaster. Black clouds roiled on the horizon, sparking with lightning, like witches’ cauldrons. The ship plunged into a trough, and Blake hung on to the companionway railing.
Only a few passengers braved the weather. Some huddled beside the capstan while sailors hauled lines, scrubbed the deck, and attended their duties. Mr. Graves leaned against the foredeck railing, his black hair blowing behind him, face lifted to the breeze as if he rather enjoyed the menacing weather.
After the deck leveled, Blake started toward the quarterdeck to take his post. That’s when he saw her, standing at the larboard bulwarks. Her loose curls tumbled in the wind down to her skirts. Lacy gloves covered her hands as they gripped the railing. Her eyes were closed, and her lips moved as if she prayed.
Prayed indeed. For forgiveness, he hoped.
Or did he? If there was a God, surely He wouldn’t grant this traitor absolution so quickly. She must pay for her crimes—for her betrayal to him and to the South.
And for breaking his heart.
She knew what the Union had done to him. What he had lost. Yet still she had received his attentions, even encouraged them! What sort of person did that? A heartless, cruel one.
Brigadier General Stanton Watts! Yes, he knew the name. Had heard of his atrocities, his brazen orders that had cost so many lives on both sides. Her association with that madman made her as culpable as he in those acts.
He could never forgive her. Never. She was the enemy, and the sooner they got to Brazil, the sooner he could rid himself of her.
Eliza felt Blake behind her. The thu-ump thu-ump that marked his hobbled gait scored a groove across her heart. She held her breath. Was he coming to speak to her? Coming to say he’d behaved horribly last night, that he’d thought things over and her past didn’t matter? But then the thu-ump passed, hastening in both pace and tempo until, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him climb the quarterdeck ladder.
Releasing her breath, she gripped the railing. The seas blurred in her vision. Gray, riotous seas this morning, not the usual smooth turquoise of the Caribbean. Above, clouds swarmed like a flock of predatory birds seeking victims, blocking out the sun that had ascended from its throne only a few hours earlier. After spending a fitful night crying and tossing—if one can toss in a hammock—she’d come above at dawn to pray, to think.
To cry alone.
She knew she took a great risk standing at the railing where some spiteful passenger or sailor could grab her legs and fling her into the sea, but somehow in her dizzying anguish she didn’t care. Perhaps she deserved it.
Thoughts of Brazil, of its golden shores, lush jungles, and fertile soil, caused tears to flood her eyes once again. She would never live there, would never be a part of the new world these colonists were building, never have a chance at a new life, a new beginning.
Wiping the moisture from her face, she breathed in the salty air tainted with the sting of rain. No, she would be forced back to a land that writhed beneath the cruel boot of the North, a land where she didn’t belong. To either side. Ostracized by her own family as well as her husband’s, with no friends, she had nowhere to go. No way to survive.
Angeline slid beside her and placed her hand atop Eliza’s, jarring her from her misery. Sarah appeared on her other side. “How are you this morning?” The compassion in Angeline’s voice nearly caused a fresh outburst of tears.
“We know you didn’t sleep well,” Sarah said.
“I’m sorry if I disturbed you.” Eliza gazed out at sea. “Be careful ladies, I’m not sure you wish to be seen with me.”
“Don’t be silly.” Sarah gave an unladylike snort. “God has no preference for Rebel or Yankee. He loves everyone equally.”
Eliza knew that. She remembered that from her years at church. Yet hearing it now, in a tone that was ripe with sincerity and love, helped settle its truth in her heart.
“Besides.” Angeline batted a strand of hair from her eyes. “They had no right to be so cruel to you last night. It matters not that you were once married to a Yankee general. It’s not like you were on the battlefield fighting our troops.”
“You are both kind,” Eliza said. “But I wouldn’t want the other passengers to hate you on my account.”
“God asks us to befriend the downtrodden, Eliza.” Sarah’s tone offered room for no other possibility.
Angeline pursed her lips. “I don’t give a care what the others think.” She grew pensive, almost sad, before she continued, “We all have our secrets, do we not?”
“Indeed.” Sarah wove her arm through Eliza’s, making her wonder what secrets these two wonderful women could possibly possess that were as bad as Eliza’s.
A man cleared his throat behind them, swerving them around to see James. Drawing a deep breath, Eliza braced herself for the doctor’s chastisement.
Yet only sympathy gleamed in his eyes.
Wind tossed his sun-glinted hair and rustled the collar of his shirt as he greeted the ladies with a smile that angled the scar alongside his mouth. He faced Eliza. “Mrs. Crawford … or Watts, is it?”
“Eliza will do, James.”
“Eliza, I want to apologize for the barbaric behavior of the other passengers last night. A ferocious, shocking display.”
Not shocking to Eliza. She had become more accustomed to such brutality over the past three years than she cared to admit. Still, she didn’t know quite how to react to the man’s kindness.
&
nbsp; He studied her. “Do I surprise you?”
“It’s just that after all you saw on the battlefield, I wouldn’t expect …”
“Ah, but God commands us to forgive.”
Eliza’s gaze found Parson Bailey sitting on the foredeck reading his Bible. When he’d come above earlier, he’d cast a loathing glance her way before choosing a spot on the other side of the ship. “It seems Parson Bailey does not share your view.”
James chuckled. “The good parson and I do not agree on many things.” With that, he tipped his hat and bade them good day. Angeline stared after him as he left. “Such an agreeable man.”
“Indeed.” Eliza said.
“Blue-coated harpy!” one of the passengers shouted from the starboard railing where a small group had clustered.
“Traitorous fink!” another added.
“Baudy turncoat!”
“Pay them no mind, Eliza.” Angeline tugged her around to face the sea. A sea that now heaved and throbbed, flinging foam onto the bulwarks. The ship bolted, and Eliza gripped the railing. Seawater soaked through her gloves. The light of day retreated behind clouds as dark as coal.
“Oh dear.” Sarah squeezed Eliza’s hand. “I believe a storm is coming.”
No sooner had she uttered the words, than the captain’s voice bellowed across the ship. “Everyone, below deck, if you please!” Turning, Eliza watched as the captain spoke to Blake, who immediately barked a list of commands: “Hands by the topgallant halyards! Shorten sail! Reef topsails! Set storm mizzen!”
The crew scrambled to do his bidding while passengers hurried below. Looped arm in arm with Sarah and Angeline, Eliza made her way to the hatch, hearing the captain say just before she dropped below, “We are in for a wild ride with this one.”
CHAPTER 14
Twenty-four hours later
Eliza’s fingers burned. Her lungs filled with water. Yet she hung on to the railing of the brig with all her remaining strength. If these were the last minutes of her life, she wouldn’t give up. She would fight to the bitter end. Lightning notched the black sky in silver. Thunder bellowed for her to release her grip. No! I will not! The brig flopped back and forth like a child’s toy in a pond, plunging Eliza into the sea one minute and flinging her into the air the next. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. But the wind tore her voice from her mouth. What did it matter? She was about to die. If she didn’t fall, her fellow passengers would toss her over anyway. At least that’s what they threatened to do when Eliza was below decks with them only moments before. Those threats had forced her above into the belly of the beastly storm.
Maybe she was a Jonah after all.
Her fingers slipped. Pain radiated into her palms, her wrists. The brig heaved and canted like a bucking horse.
God, is this how I am to die? Perhaps it was. She’d run from God long enough.
Rain slapped her face, filled her nose. She couldn’t breathe. Her fingers slipped again.
A strong hand grabbed her wrist. A face appeared over the railing. “Hang on! I’ve got you.”
He gripped her other hand just as her fingers slid from the railing. The ship teetered, dunking her into the raging sea. Water enveloped her, sloshing and gurgling and pulling her down. But whoever held her did not let go. Then just as quickly as it had tipped to the side, the brig lifted from the water, slinging her upward. The man hauled her on board. They landed like two sacks of sodden rice on the slippery deck, his body atop hers.
It was Blake. He lifted from her, water dripping from his anxious face before the deck lunged again. Grabbing her, he clung to the hatch combing. “Foolish woman!” was all she heard as the bow tilted so far up, she thought the ship would topple over backward.
Once the deck leveled, Blake took her arm, yanked her to her feet, and dragged her to the companionway. “Get below!” Rain streamed down his face. His hair hung in strands of ink.
“I can’t go back down there!” she shouted. “They want to toss me overboard.”
Grimacing, he untied the rope from around his waist and handed it to her. “Go to your cabin and tie yourself to something.”
“But you—”
“Now!” He thrust the rope into her hand and turned to leave.
Clinging to the railing, Eliza made her way below, unsure whether to be happy or sad that she was still among the living.
Grabbing another lifeline, Blake tied himself to the capstan. On the quarterdeck, Captain Barclay gripped the wheel beside the helmsman, their expressions strung tight as they strained to control the ship. Tension constricted the captain’s voice and lined his face, causing Blake’s terror to rise. If the hardened seaman was so worried, they must be in real danger.
Strands of hair stung Blake’s cheek. He jerked them back and dove into the wind, making his way to his post alongside Hayden, where Moses and a group of sailors battled lines attached to yards above. Foolish, mad woman! She’d almost gotten herself killed! He hadn’t noticed her until a flash of violet skirts tumbling over the deck caught his eye. He’d darted toward her as fast as the heaving ship would allow, but he was too late. She had gone over.
And his heart had gone overboard with her.
He’d thought he’d lost her. And in that brief moment, his life lost all meaning. His anger fled him, and he’d dashed to the railing. When he’d seen her dangling there barely able to breathe, wave after wave slamming her, terror had taken over all reason. And he knew he’d do anything to save her.
But he didn’t have time to ponder that now as a wall of water slammed into him, sweeping his feet out from beneath him and sending him careening over the deck. Gripping his rope, he shut his mouth against the torrent and hung on. The waters subsided. He struggled to rise. The captain brayed orders that were quickly stolen by the roar of the storm. Above him, sailors clung to yards and masts that swung back and forth like demonic pendulums. How much more could the brig take before it split in two? Sailors appeared from below, dragging trunks, crates, and barrels to the railing. Blake helped them hoist them over the side, knowing they were losing what was left of their food, their water, their tools, and other necessities for the new world, wondering how they would get by without them.
If they survived the storm.
Eliza didn’t like being told what to do. She would have rather stayed above with a lifeline tied around her than be tossed back and forth like a bale of hay in a wagon—a wagon that felt like it was tumbling over a cliff. But after Blake had so graciously offered his own rope, leaving himself in temporary peril, what else could she do? So she tied herself to the table in her cabin and curled into a ball on the deck, praying for God to save them. Now two hours later, the roar of the storm lessened, the crash of waves against the hull subsided, and the thunder retreated.
Either she had died and this was her own personal hell—being on board a ship full of people who hated her—or they had survived and were still afloat.
Untying herself, she crept from the cabin to emerge onto a sodden deck with equally sodden crewmen slouching in various positions of exhaustion—looking much like the remaining sails: drenched, torn, and tattered. Soon passengers popped above. With white faces and open mouths, they gazed around at the bare-masted ship. Though only hours before, some of them had demanded they toss Eliza overboard, now they paid her no mind.
Captain Barclay remained on the quarterdeck. Water dripped from his blue coat, which was angling off one shoulder. His hair, stiff with salt, stuck out in every direction, making him look like a drenched porcupine. A very angry porcupine. He growled orders, sending some men to assess damage and others below to assist with the pumps.
Were they taking on water?
Water dripped from yards and spars, plopping on the waterlogged deck. Electricity crackled in the air as a brisk breeze chilled Eliza. She hugged herself. Angeline and Sarah sped toward her, and together they surveyed the storm retreating on the horizon. Like a monster tucking its tail between its legs, it rumbled away, baring angry teeth of
lightning as it went.
Blake, his shirt plastered to his chest, molding every muscle and sinew, gave her a cursory glance before he assisted the sailors in cleaning up the shards of wood and torn lines that littered the deck.
His disregard stung her, destroyed the hope that had sprung when he’d risked himself to save her. But that was the kind of man he was. A noble man who would risk his own life …
Even for an enemy.
After all were present and accounted for, the parson, at James’s urging, said a prayer of thanks for God’s rescue and that no lives had been lost. As all heads bowed, the drip-drop of water from the rigging above was the only reminder of the terror they had endured. Eliza said her own prayer of thanks. She didn’t know why God had saved her, but she had to admit she was glad to be alive.
The damage report of torn sails, a cracked mast, one split yard, and a hold full of water etched a deeper frown on Captain Barclay’s face, but his subsequent decision to set sail for one of the nearby islands seemed to encourage everyone after their near watery grave. There they could restock their food and water supplies and allow the crew a few days to make the necessary repairs.
The next day the New Hope hobbled into the bay of an island so lush and beautiful, Eliza wondered if they hadn’t found the paradise they were seeking. Emerald water caressed glistening ebony sand that led to a canvas of mossy forest in every possible shade of green. As they drifted closer to shore, the air filled with the melody of a myriad of birds chirping and singing their greeting.
The island of Dominica, the captain had announced, though how he could be sure of their location after the storm, Eliza had no idea. But he had his remaining charts and some instruments and the sky to guide him. Not to mention his vast experience on the sea.
After being confined to the tiny brig for three weeks, everyone declared the sight was more precious than gold. Well, everyone except for Mr. Dodd. And perhaps Mr. Graves, who seemed impervious to joy.
Forsaken Dreams Page 15
