Forsaken Dreams (27 page)

He gestured the crowd to silence then cleared his throat. “I’ll not deny that we have suffered many losses. But there is still hope. I’ve heard the emperor of Brazil is willing to sell land on credit, as well as provide food and supplies to help new colonies until their first harvest.”

“I don’t want to be beholding to some foreign emperor!” one man shouted.

“What if we can’t pay up and he throws us in jail?”

Hayden braced his boots on the rolling deck. “I say we continue. Most of us have nothing to go back to anyway.”

“A stowaway doesn’t have a say!” Mr. Scott bellowed. Hayden sent the man a scathing glance.

“Say or not, the man is right,” James piped in. “We all left because our homeland wasn’t our homeland anymore. The Yankees stripped us of everything we loved dear. Why would anyone want to return to that?”

“I lost my wife and only child.” Mr. Lewis’s hopeless tone stifled Blake’s disdain for the drunk carpenter.

Graves sauntered to the front of the crowd, brushing imaginary dust from his black coat. “We should return because it is still a better choice than starving or being eaten by a wild animal in the jungle.”

“Oh ye of little faith, Mr. Graves.” Blake planted fists at his waist. “You insult the competence of this fine group. I chose each of you for your exceptional skills. Why such dire predictions?”

“Because I am a pragmatist, sir.” He gave a slanted smile. “And I know when we are beaten.”

Grunts of agreement chipped away at Blake’s patience. He wiped the sweat from the back of his neck and squinted at the sun high in the sky.

James leaped onto the quarterdeck ladder, clung to a backstay, and addressed the crowd as a breeze flapped his open shirt. “Our forefathers came to America long ago with much less than we have here. They fought the elements and the natives, and forged a living in an untamed wilderness. Why should we do any less?”

“I quite agree.” Dodd clipped his thumbs into his belt. “Besides, there’s gold to be found in this new land. I have the maps to prove it.” He surveyed the mob, his eyes twinkling. “And I’ll cut a share to anyone who helps me find it.”

Some of the men’s eyes widened.

“I’ll drink to that.” Mr. Lewis lifted his flask in the air and took a sip.

“Rubbish.” Mr. Scott chortled.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Graves snickered, sounding like the politician he was. “Chasing dreams and fantasies is not for grown men and women. We created successful lives in America once. We can do it again!”

Nods of affirmation bobbed across the deck.

Blake studied the odd man. “Why did you sign on for this voyage if you are so intent on going back?”

“I am a politician, Colonel. I don’t vote for risky ventures doomed to fail. And this venture has become far too risky for my tastes.”

“Life is full of risk.” Hayden crossed his arms over his chest. “Returning home would hold as much a risk as sailing ahead.”

James gave him a nod, and Blake followed with an approving glance. “Let’s put it to a vote, then,” the captain intervened.

“Agreed.” Blake drew a deep breath. “All in favor of returning raise your hand and say, ‘Aye.’”

“Ayes” echoed across the ship, piercing Blake’s heart like musket shot as he counted the hands. Twenty.

“All those against returning, say
nay
.”

Nays in equal volume and number filled the air.

Blake scanned the deck. His stomach constricted with the count of each hand. “Twenty.” He sighed. “We are equal.” Yet there were forty-four colonists in all. Yes, of course. The women below. Since the screams had ceased, he’d all but forgotten them.

“What’ll we do now?” one of the farmers asked.

“I vote with the ayes.” Magnolia emerged from the companionway, blood on her gown and a grin on her face.

“Hush up, girl!” Her father seethed. “You don’t know your own mind. And what in the tarnation is all over your gown? Good heavens, Mrs. Scott, look at your daughter.” Covering her mouth, the lady sped to Magnolia and dragged her below.

“Twenty-one to twenty.” Blake felt as if a piece of rope had lodged in his throat. Four additional votes could seal his fate. Eliza would no doubt vote to return, since she was to be sent back anyway. Miss Angeline might as well, considering the bond the two women had formed. That left only Sarah. And her one vote wouldn’t be enough.

C
HAPTER
20

N
othing happened aboard a ship that was not soon privy to all who had ears. Which was why Eliza knew, from the shouts and the tapping of feet above her, that something important was taking place on the main deck. Something that, no doubt, had some bearing on her future. Yet even though Sarah had delivered a healthy baby girl, Eliza hesitated to leave her until mother and child were resting comfortably. Instead, she sent Magnolia to see what was happening and report back immediately. But when the lady did not return, Eliza settled the baby in Sarah’s arms, gave Angeline final instructions, and headed above.

Even before she reached the top of the hatch, she deduced the reason for the gathering from the heated discussion. “I vote with the nays,” she said, popping onto the main deck. Eyes darted her way, some scanning her with contempt, some blinking at the blood splattered across her apron, others shifting their gazes away as if she were a leper.

Blake grinned. Or at least Eliza thought it was a grin—hoped it was a grin.

“She doesn’t get to vote,” the baker said. “She’s a Yankee.”

“Aye, that’s right! She shouldn’t even be here,” one of the ex-soldiers shouted.

Blake’s jaw flexed. “She paid the same as the rest of you.”

“I simply refuse to accept the vote of a Yankee.” Mr. Graves’s tone was incredulous. “I doubt any
true
Southerner would.”

“This Yankee just saved Sarah’s life.” Angeline’s voice spun Eliza around to see the lady emerging from below. Lifting her chin, she cast a stalwart glance over the passengers. “Saved her life and the life of her baby through a difficult delivery. A healthy baby girl.” She smiled at Eliza and squeezed her hand. “So if you won’t accept her vote, surely you’ll accept mine. I vote we continue to Brazil. And so does Sarah.”

Batting hair from her face, Eliza looked up at Blake, wondering what the final count was. Relief reflected in his gray eyes before he looked away. “That makes twenty-three to twenty-one in favor of continuing on to Brazil.”

Some shouted in victory. Others moaned. Mr. Graves skulked away.

“Never fear. We will survive,” Blake shouted, gripping the quarterdeck railing and halting the retreating mob in their tracks. “We will create a new land, a land where we can keep our freedom, our honor, our integrity, and our Southern ways. A land where no one can tell us how to live.”

The confident tone of his voice, the determined assurance lining his features, and the commanding spread of his shoulders all combined to create an aura of ability, of trust, that drew people to follow him. He must have been magnificent on the battlefield. Even now all eyes latched on him and all grumbling ceased.

“Here, here.” Dodd thrust his fist into the air, followed by Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Scott, and several other men.

Captain Barclay gave Blake an approving nod before bellowing orders that raised sails, weighed anchor, and set their course. As the crowd dispersed, Blake assumed his duties as first mate with ease. Leaping to the main deck, he brushed past Eliza. Drawing in a deep breath of his masculine scent, she remained in place, stunned. Afraid to move. Afraid that if she did, someone would remember that she wasn’t supposed to be on board at all—that she was supposed to be marooned on the island, whose waving palms now taunted her from beyond the starboard quarter.

Shouts echoed across the ship. Sails lowered and flapped in the breeze as men heaved on the capstan to raise the anchor.

James approached, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Good work, Eliza. Shall we check on your patient?” He proffered his elbow with a wink. “Out of sight, out of mind, eh?”

With a grin, Eliza placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her below.

Eliza woke with a start. Darkness saturated the cabin. Grabbing the hammock rope, she pulled herself to sit and listened. Nothing but the creak of the ship and deep breathing of her friends met her ears. But she thought she heard … well, it didn’t matter. She was no doubt dreaming. Lying down, she closed her eyes and tried to fall back asleep. Much needed sleep ever since Sarah’s baby was born. Little Lydia woke up hungry two or three times a night. Yet once Sarah started feeding her, she slipped back asleep in no time. Eliza wished she could do the same. But more often than not, she lay awake for hours pondering her fate.

Wondering if it wouldn’t have been better to have remained on Dominica. At least there no one knew who she was. Here, on board the brig, almost everyone hated her. They ignored her, avoided her, and cast disdainful glances her way. To make matters worse, Blake had not said a single word to her in a week, nor even graced her with a glance. His rejection hurt her the most. At least Angeline and Sarah still spoke to her, as did Magnolia, James, and a few of the farmers’ wives. She should be thankful for that.

An eerie song filtered through the bulkhead, raising the hairs on Eliza’s arms. So she
had
heard something. Sliding from her hammock, she nearly tumbled to the deck. What she wouldn’t give to sleep in a bed again. After slipping into a blouse and settling a skirt over her nightdress, she left the cabin and inched up the companionway ladder. Ribbons of light and dark swept over the deck from a lantern hanging at the mainmast. A warm breeze, ripe with brine and a hint of dawn, toyed among the strands of her loose hair.

The chanting stopped. She peered into the darkness but could not find its source. Odd. Probably one of the sailors, embarrassed at seeing her at this hour. Grabbing her skirts, she braced herself on the heaving deck and made her way to the railing. Dawn would break soon, and with each mile they sailed southward, the sun’s ascension grew more and more beautiful. She knew because she had often been up at this hour—the perfect time to enjoy fresh air without being assailed by reproachful glances and bitter comments.

Gripping the railing, she drew a deep breath of the sea and prayed for strength to endure another day. Inky water bubbled and churned beneath a sky lit by a thousand twinkling stars, so incredibly beautiful. It was hard to remain morose for long. The warm air suddenly chilled. She glanced behind her. A dark shadow slithered across the deck and disappeared into the shadows. Eliza’s skin crawled. “Who’s there?”

When no answer came, she faced the sea again and nearly bumped into Mr. Graves. He eyed her with a predatory look that sent her leaping backward. “Mr. Graves, you frightened me.”

“Sorry, my dear. Unintended, I’m sure.” A burst of wind blew his dark hair behind him. “What are you doing up on deck this time of night?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Eliza gripped the railing and took a step away from the strange man.

“I don’t sleep, Mrs. Crawford.”

“At all? Or just tonight?”

“Rarely.”

“I seem to be having the same trouble lately,” she muttered, more to herself than to him.

“I would expect so.”

His features were lost to her in the shadows, yet she sensed a hostility—no, something deeper—a malevolence that chilled the air around him.

She rubbed her arms and took another step away, thankful the roar of rushing water drowned out her thumping heart, lest he sense her fear. Leaning one arm on the railing, he turned toward her. The smell of tobacco bit her nose as silence made the passage of time unbearable.

Eliza stepped back yet again. “Why do you tarnish your reputation by speaking to a traitor?”

“When I saw you here alone, I thought you might be in some sort of trouble.”

“As you can see, I am quite well.” She used a dismissive tone, hoping he’d let her be.

He paused. “There are many people who would not wish that so, Mrs. Crawford.”

“Are you one of them, sir?”

He chuckled. The first time she’d ever heard the man chuckle. “For instance”—he waved a hand through the air—“with you standing alone at the railing, anyone could come along and toss you overboard.”

Eliza gulped.

“All they need do is grab your feet, and
voila
“—he flicked his wrist and gazed at the churning foam below—“over you go.” He sighed. “Who’s to stop them?”

“I would.” Blake emerged from the darkness like a leviathan from the deep.

Eliza’s heart lurched into her throat. Mr. Graves plucked a cigar from his coat pocket. “Never fear, my good colonel. I was merely warning the lady of the possibility, not advocating the action.”

Blake crossed his arms over his chest, inflicting Graves with his silent stare.

Finally, the man dipped his head to the two of them. “Well, I suppose … Good evening. Or should I say good morning to you both.” Then turning, he strode away, whistling a disjointed tune.

Eliza’s legs gave out, and she gripped the railing. “Thank you, Blake.”

“Colonel.” His jaw tightened. Yet he made no move to leave.