“Perhaps he was taken by natives,” Hayden offered.
“But why wouldn’t they take all of us? And they didn’t take our barrels or weapons. Don’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Blake shifted his weight. Pain clouded his features, but at least no blood appeared on the bandage around his leg.
James huffed. “And we still have no water.”
“We found a creek.” The sailor’s eyes lit up beneath a brow furrowed with sweat and sand. “We can get water tomorrow.”
“Aye.” Captain Barclay planted his hands at his waist and squinted at the setting sun. “At first light, we’ll search for the parson and gather water.” He glanced toward the men still hammering in the yards. “Repairs will be finished tomorrow, and we need to get sailin’. I’ve wasted enough time as it is. There’s cargo in New Orleans waitin’ for me to pick it up after I drop your colony off in Brazil.”
“We can’t just leave the parson here.” Angeline spoke from her spot across the deck, drawing curious gazes her way.
“Yes we can, miss.” Captain Barclay’s tone bore neither rancor nor sympathy. “Especially if he struck my man here.”
“We don’t know that for sure.” Sunlight glinted gold in Dodd’s wavy hair—most likely the only gold he’d ever find. “He could have been kidnapped. Why, when I was a sheriff in Richmond, I dealt with many a kidnapping. There was one in par—”
“We didn’t hear no struggle or no screamin’.” The sailor crossed his beefy arms over his chest.
“An’ we saw no one else there,” the first sailor said.
“What about her?” Graves stroked his black goatee and gestured toward Eliza.
Her breath caught in her throat as all eyes speared her with a scorn so real, she felt its punctures in her chest.
“I need to bandage this man’s wound,” she squeaked out, frustrated that terror revealed itself in her voice.
Blake stepped forward. “We need her. She’s the only person on board who can tend to our sick and injured.” He pointed to his wounded leg. “Are you willing to risk your lives for your blasted pride?” Though Eliza knew the only reason he stood up for her was for the benefit of his precious venture, his words warmed her.
“And we’ll need her when Sarah’s baby arrives,” Blake added.
“That’s not for another two months,” Dodd said. “We’ll be in Brazil by then and can find someone there.”
“Besides, we have the good doctor.” Mr. Scott declared. “He’ll get over his fear of blood soon enough.”
But James shook his head. “I doubt it. I’ve been like this for over two years.”
“What good is a doctor who’s afraid of blood?” one of the soldiers spat with disdain.
“But you can tell one o’ us what to do, Doc,” one of the farmers added.
The statement fired a plethora of comments into the air like grapeshot, most of which hit their mark in Eliza’s heart, and one that sank deep. “Her husband probably killed some of our kin!”
“Aye, she’s bad luck to be sure,” one sailor shouted. “And now, the parson’s gone missing.”
“Don’t be silly.” Angeline moved to stand beside Eliza. “There’s no such thing as bad luck.”
“But there’s such a thing as God’s curse, ain’t there, Doc?” Max asked. “Aren’t you a preacher too?”
James rubbed the back of his neck. “There are curses in the Bible. But not for—”
“There you have it!” Mr. Scott huffed. “The woman is cursed.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Blake shouted. “We would be cursed far worse if we lost her.”
Captain Barclay finally raised his hands in a gesture that silenced the mob. “I, for one, have had my fill of bad luck.” He faced Blake. “Beggin’ your pardon, Colonel, but it’s still my decision, and I say the Yankee goes. Max will escort her halfway to Roseau first thing in the morning. She can find her way from there.” With eyes like a hawk, he scanned the crowd, daring any to disagree. “I’ve been at sea long enough to know there is such a thing as bad luck. We’ll put her ashore, get water, and search for the parson, but we will set sail tomorrow afternoon, and that’s my final say on it.”
Not wanting anyone to see her fear, Eliza had been successful at keeping her tears at bay, but now, hours later in her cabin, she could not stop them from trickling down her cheeks. Nor could she stop from trembling like a palm frond in the wind. She’d accepted her fate that morning, but to have her hopes revived only to be dashed again had wreaked havoc on her emotions. Darkness slithered outside the porthole of her cabin, teasing her with its temporary reign as every minute ticked by until the sun would rise and she’d be put ashore.
“What shall I do, Stowy?” She kissed the top of the feline’s head and snuggled against his furry cheek, but the only answer she received was the contented rumble of a purr.
Unable to eat, she’d refused dinner and instead had paced her cabin, pleading with God for another chance. Sarah had joined her shortly after sunset. But after praying with Eliza and encouraging her to trust her fate to the Almighty, she had retired, complaining of a sore back. Poor food, the constant movement of the ship, and the oppressive heat did little to ease the discomfort of the woman’s condition. Yet thankfully, she now swayed calmly in her hammock, sound asleep. In a way, Eliza had much in common with Sarah. They were both alone in the world, and both had huge obstacles to overcome. Yet while Sarah slept peacefully, believing God would take care of her, Eliza’s restless soul drove her mad with worry.
The door creaked, and Angeline entered. “I thought you’d be asleep,” she whispered after glancing at Sarah.
“I can’t.” Eliza hugged herself and plopped down in the only chair.
Skirts swished. Angeline sat on the trunk beside her and took her hand. “It isn’t fair.” Stowy leaped onto Angeline’s lap and curled into a ball. She stroked his fur as if he were her only friend in the world. “Why don’t I go with you?” Her voice lifted in excitement. “Two are better than one.”
“Don’t be absurd. Why should both of us suffer? You haven’t done anything wrong.”
Nothing but the creak of the ship and Stowy’s purrs replied. “You don’t know that,” Angeline finally whispered.
Eliza squeezed her hand. “Surely nothing that would warrant them hating you as much as they hate me.”
“I’m not so sure.” Angeline’s voice weighed heavy with regret. “I don’t even know why they hate you. I mean, you’re not really a Yankee.”
“They are hurting. They need someone to blame.”
Rising, Angeline bundled Stowy in her arms.
“Thank you, Angeline. It’s nice to have friends on board.” Even if Eliza could count them all on one hand.
Moonlight swayed over Angeline with the rock of the ship. Silver, black, silver, black. Much like the woman’s moods. Happy then sad, bold then timid. Eliza could not forget how Angeline had nearly fainted when the frigate captured them. Or, alternatively, how she boldly stood beside Eliza when the passengers threatened to toss her overboard. Eliza longed to know Angeline’s story. She longed to help her. But now she’d never have the chance.
“Won’t you try to get some sleep?” Angeline asked.
“I don’t think I can. You go ahead. I’ll just sit here awhile.”
Within minutes of undressing and crawling into her hammock—with Stowy curled by her side—Angeline’s breathing deepened, leaving Eliza alone again. A loneliness that cloaked her in a familiar, heavy drape. Minutes passed. The muffled sounds of voices echoing through the ship faded one by one until nothing remained but the lap of waves against the hull. Nothing save the frantic thump of her heart and the horrifying visions of her future. She tried to pray, but out of her hopelessness, no words formed. Instead, she crept out of the cabin and made her way above to the starboard railing. Perhaps some fresh air would clear her head and give her a new perspective.
A quarter moon flung silver and blue braids across the
choppy bay as a breeze stirred the palms ashore in a gentle swishing cadence. Bowing her head, she clasped her shaky hands and began to pray.
Against the rolling of the ship, Magnolia clung to the ladder and made her way above deck. Her parents snoring away in their stifling cabin afforded her the perfect opportunity to slip from their watchful gazes and steal a few moments alone. She hadn’t slept in four nights—not since she’d made a spectacle of herself at the dance and revealed Eliza’s secret to all. Slipping her hand into the pocket of her gown, she withdrew a peppermint leaf and plopped it in her mouth. Just in case she came across anyone on deck. She’d tried to control her drinking after that night but found the incident had only increased her need for the vile liquor. Vile, wonderful elixir that took away the pain and made life bearable.
A night breeze, laden with the scent of wild orchids and sweet mangoes, swirled about her, nearly wiping away the stench of the ship and its filthy crew—an odor that seemed permanently lodged in her lungs. She peered into the darkness, seeking Mr. Lewis. The aged carpenter always carried a flask of brandy on him. And Magnolia always managed to talk him out of a sip. Or two. But he was nowhere in sight. Only a few slouching shadows loomed on the fore- and quarterdeck that were most likely watchmen fast asleep.
Another figure stood at the starboard railing, just outside the light from the lantern hanging from the mainmast. Magnolia took a step forward, squinting into the darkness. Mercy, it was Eliza. She was the last person Magnolia wished to see! She imagined the feeling was mutual. No doubt the woman hated her for what she’d done. Turning, Magnolia intended to return to her cabin when an alarming and utterly foreign idea halted her. Perhaps I should apologize. That would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it? After all, Magnolia hadn’t meant to say anything. In fact, she hardly remembered saying anything at all. But, for goodness’ sake, since Eliza was to be cast off on the morrow, an apology was the least Magnolia could offer her for the trouble she’d caused. Bracing herself for the lady’s rage, Magnolia crossed the deck and slipped beside her. Eliza’s lips moved beneath closed eyes.
Praying? How quaint. Yet Magnolia supposed she might be reduced to prayer if she were being stranded on an island in the morning. She leaned toward her, longing to hear how laypeople prayed. All she’d ever heard were the prayers recited in church.
Eliza’s eyes shot open. She reeled backward with a start. “Magnolia, you frightened me.”
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to.”
Eliza’s gaze scoured her from head to toe. “Do you need medical attention?”
The true concern in her voice only heightened Magnolia’s guilt. “No. I’m quite all right.” She sighed and glanced over the inky sea. Inky and dark like her soul.
Eliza’s brow knitted. “As you know, I won’t be around after tonight, so if you have a question or a complaint I can help you with …”
Magnolia swept a shocked gaze her way. “You would help me?”
Moonlight trickled over Eliza’s smile as she glanced toward the island.
“After what I did?” Magnolia leaned on the railing. Across the bay, dark shadows churned and swayed, making the island look like a breathing, living entity. A monkey howled. Or at least Magnolia thought it was a monkey. She shivered at the thought of being in the jungle alone.
“I came to tell you how sorry I am.” Tears burned behind Magnolia’s eyes. “I never meant to break my promise. I was … well, I was …”
Eliza covered Magnolia’s hand with hers. “I know.” She gave a tiny smile of understanding. “You weren’t yourself.”
Though Magnolia heard the words, she could not process them. All she could do was stare at the woman whose life she had ruined.
“We all make mistakes, Magnolia. Believe me, I know how it feels to be punished for something you can’t take back.”
Magnolia swallowed.
Eliza patted her hand then gripped the railing again. “You are forgiven.”
A tear slid down Magnolia’s cheek. “Just like that. You could die because of me.”
“My life is in God’s hands, not yours. Here,” she said, handing her a handkerchief. “What’s done is done.”
Magnolia dabbed her face. “But I blackmailed you.”
“Alcohol does strange things to people.”
Magnolia sniffed, wondering why she smelled smoke all of a sudden. “I suppose you must think me a spoiled tart, a spoiled, besotted tart.”
Eliza turned toward her. “No, I don’t. I think you are hurting. I think you drink to cover something up. Something deep inside.”
Indignation flamed up Magnolia’s spine. “Mercy me, of all the nerve! You don’t know me.” How dare the woman gaze at Magnolia as if she were somehow beneath her? “What could possibly be wrong with my life? Aside from being forced on this despicable journey, that is. I’m wealthy and beautiful and educated. I can play the piano and paint a masterpiece, and I speak French and Italian. Men adore me, vie for my hand in marriage.”
Eliza’s lips folded, but still the look of pity remained. “I meant no offense.”
“I wish you the best, Eliza. Good night.” Magnolia spun around. She needed a drink, and she needed one badly.
Eliza stared after the beauty as she flounced across the deck and disappeared below. What an odd conversation. What an odd woman. One minute apologetic, the next riding her high horse. Yet Eliza found no anger within her toward the woman. Regardless of her list of accomplishments and abilities, Magnolia seemed haunted by something, desperate even, and a bit broken inside. Despite the airs she put on to impress others.
Something Eliza need not worry about. She knew where she stood—with these people, with her family back home. With the entire country, in fact.
The smell of smoke curled her nose. She scanned the ship. A white haze floated over the deck. A shadow shifted to her left. Blake dropped from the quarterdeck and darted to the main hatch where a misty vapor pumped into the air.
“Fire!”
CHAPTER 18
Grabbing the bucket, Blake tossed the seawater on the last dying embers in the hold. The coals sputtered, closing their red, glowing eyes with the final hiss of their demise. The line of exhausted men that extended up the ladder cheered. Faces creased with soot shone with glee in the lantern light as the crowd broke up and headed above.
Hayden slapped Blake on the back. “Good thing you saw the smoke in time.” With his dark hair, soot-covered face, and wide eyes, the man looked more like a startled owl at midnight than their tenacious stowaway.
Running a sleeve over his forehead, Blake chuckled at the sight.
Hayden gave him a knowing grin. “You’re quite a mess yourself, mate.”
Captain Barclay, sweat dripping from his beard, stared at smoking ashes. “Souse me for a gurnet, I can’t figure what started the fire. Especially in the hold. My men know better than to leave a lantern lit down here.”
“Perhaps a passenger …” James spoke from the ladder as he descended to join them.
Moses emerged from the shadows, ashes blotching his meaty arms. “No sir. No passengers down this far. We was all asleep above.”
James stared at the smoking remains of what had been a pile of old sailcloth. “Thank God the flames were put out easily.”
“Aye,” Captain Barclay said. “Or we’d all be marooned on this island.”
Like Eliza. The smell of smoke and bilge bit Blake’s nose as the thought bit his heart.
“This trip be cursed, says I,” one of the sailors said, his voice heightened with fear. “We’ll be lucky to make it to Brazil alive.”
The captain huffed his response and waved toward the man. “Gather some men and get this mess cleaned up and the water pumped out. Then inspect the hold for damage.” As the sailor sped off, Captain Barclay faced Blake. “We should question Miss Magnolia. If she’s desperate enough to toss my instruments overboard, who’s to say she wouldn’t start a fire?”
Blake shifted his boots in the sludge a
nd winced at the ache in both legs. Though he’d love to draw suspicion toward the spoon-fed tart and away from Eliza as the source of their bad luck, he could not do so in good conscience. “Don’t think it was her. I saw her above with Eliza when the fire started.”
“Ah yes, Mrs. Crawford. Lenn!” The captain shouted at the sailor, who poked his head back down the hatchway. “Tell Max to get ashore with Mrs. Crawford straightaway. I want to set sail in a few hours.” Then turning, he headed toward the ladder muttering, “Cursed woman.”
Blake hung his head. Why had he gone and reminded the captain of Eliza?
An hour later, washed and wearing fresh clothes, Blake stood at the railing watching a boatload of sailors row Eliza ashore. She hadn’t pleaded or groveled or begged or cried. She’d merely stared straight ahead. All except one glance. One glance at Blake before she climbed down the rope ladder. It was enough to see the remorse, the anguish, the fear in her eyes. Not hatred. Not anger as he’d expected.
He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop that morning. Another restless night had driven him above, seeking solace in the gentle waters of the bay—seeking solace for a mind not only tortured with recurring battles, but swamped with thoughts of Eliza’s perilous future. Then she had appeared, as if his dreams had taken form. He watched as she gazed over the sea, wistful and morose, before she clasped her trembling hands together and bowed her head in prayer. He watched her for several minutes from his position in the shadows of the quarterdeck, feeling like a muckraker for intruding on her privacy. He watched her because he could do nothing else. Then when Miss Magnolia had joined her, his curiosity got the better of him. All right. So he had been eavesdropping.
But what he’d heard sent his mind reeling. She’d forgiven Magnolia! She’d forgiven the pretentious, spoiled lush without so much as a blink of her eye. The woman who had ruined her life and shoved her into a future riddled with uncertainty and danger. Astounding!
Now as the men rowed Eliza to that treacherous future, she cast one last glance over her shoulder at him. If he were a praying man, he’d petition God for her safety, but he’d given up on prayer long ago. Instead, he ran a hand through his wet hair and cursed.
Forsaken Dreams Page 18
