Forsaken Dreams (37 page)

“I’ll always be your friend. No matter what.”

“I’m sorry I worried you all so much. And James, risking his life to save me.”

“Hayden was about to jump in as well. And Blake. That’s three men willing to die for you, Angeline.”

“I’m truly humbled by everyone’s concern.” She released a heavy sigh and picked up the coffee again. “I’m much better now, Eliza.” Violet eyes swung to hers, brimming with sincerity. “I truly am.”

Eliza had never had so much trouble getting anyone to open up to her before. Oh the stories she would hear in the battlefield hospitals—the secrets soldiers would share with her during the long hours of the night. They’d said she was a good listener. Someone who cared. She’d prided herself on not only being able to tend the wounds on their bodies, but the wounds on their hearts as well.

But Angeline was an iron chest. With a thick iron lock. And there was no key in sight. “I only hope that you will come to me if you need to talk or if you have a problem. Will you promise me that?”

She nodded. “Honestly, I don’t know what came over me.” She shook her head and swallowed. “I didn’t mean to put anyone else at risk.”

So, she
had
jumped. The truth bore a hole in Eliza’s heart. She brushed hair from Angeline’s face. “Nothing can be so bad that you forfeit your life. Whatever it is, you can count on me to always stick by your side.”

Angeline gave a halfhearted smile. “Thank you.”

“Very well.” Eliza rose. “Eat your breakfast, and I’ll go fetch some water to rinse that hair of yours.” Yet, as Eliza made her way down the hall, she couldn’t shake the feeling the poor lady’s troubles were only just beginning. And the worst of it was, once they got off in Brazil, Eliza wouldn’t be around to help her.

Twelve days later, Eliza peered into the darkness, trying to make out the features of the continent just a half mile off their starboard side. Nothing but murky shadows met her gaze. Shadows that had snaked around her hammock, strangling her and jarring her awake. In fact, the closer they sailed toward their destination, the more agitated her sleep had become, as if Brazil toyed with her emotions, taunting her with the fact that she’d never set foot on its shores. Or perhaps she was merely depressed because in a few days, everyone she’d grown to know and care for would abandon her for their new home, leaving her all alone once again.

Forsaken. For one mistake.

Myriad stars reflected off a sea as slick as polished onyx, creating a mirror image of sky on water, while a half-moon smiled down on her as if trying to reassure her all would be well. But she knew it was a lie. With most sails furled, the ship barely whisked through the liquid pitch that seemed as thick as the coating around her heart. Eerily peaceful. She guessed it to be around midnight, though she couldn’t be sure. The helmsman paid her no mind, and the only night watchman snored from the foredeck.

Not that she minded the company of other passengers. They no longer shunned her or insulted her or even cast disparaging looks her way. In fact, most of them were quite courteous. She supposed it had much to do with her willingness to treat their complaints without hesitation. Everything from the ague, to corns, earaches, sore gums, and diarrhea to heartburn.

“Love does conquer all, Lord.” She gazed into the dark void, allowing the night breeze to trickle through her hair, warm and soothing. “And good does conquer evil.” For some people anyway. Aside from those few precious moments nearly two weeks ago, Blake had remained at a distance, speaking to her only when forced. She couldn’t make heads nor tails of his behavior. Hadn’t he almost kissed her in the sick bay? He’d seemed so kind then, so interested in hearing her side of things. Then, as quickly as donning a uniform, he had switched from warm, loving Blake to cold, impervious Colonel Wallace.

Even so, during the past weeks, she’d caught him looking at her more than once from across the deck. Sometimes he gazed at her with such intense admiration it seemed they were the only two people on board. Other times, anger—no, confusion—shadowed his stormy eyes before he looked away.

Frustration soured in her belly. If he wished to hate her, then hate her, but the occasional moments of interest, the glimpses of affection, and the flickers of hope they lit in her heart would be her undoing. No doubt that was another reason she stood staring into the darkness instead of lying fast asleep in her hammock.

Yet she was the one who had married a Yankee general. Against her father’s wishes. Against her entire family’s wishes. And if she admitted it, against her own conscience. She hadn’t loved Stanton. Not really. She’d been enamored with him. With his position, his power, his commanding presence. The way he made her feel like an adult, not like the child her father always reduced her to. Under her father’s roof, she was told what to wear, what to eat, whom to associate with, where to go. But with Stanton, she’d been given the run of her own house. Stanton was her ticket to freedom, her road to living life by her own rules. That was, until the war began and he was called away and she moved into his family’s home in Pennsylvania with his parents and siblings. They had never accepted Stanton’s marriage to Eliza and made no excuse for their cold behavior. Nor did they hesitate to monitor her every word, correspondence, and movement. As if she were a Southern spy!

The brig rose over a swell, and Eliza braced her slippers on the deck. She’d gotten so used to the rolling of the ship, she hardly had to think about steadying herself anymore. In fact, she’d grown to love the sea for all its wildness and passion and unpredictability. She felt free on these waters—more than she had anywhere else. Her chest grew heavy at the thought of being forced to disembark back in Charleston—back to a land where she didn’t belong.

Clutching her locket, she rubbed a thumb over the fine silver. “Why am I so rebellious, God? I’m so sorry. Why don’t I ask for Your wisdom before I jump into things? Why don’t I listen to Your voice and obey?”

No answer came, save the rush of water against the hull and flap of sail. She breathed in the warm, briny air and then released it in a long sigh. Her rebellion had cost her everything. And now it would cost her the chance at a new life and the love of a man she adored.

Closing her eyes, she gripped the railing. When would she ever learn?

“Well lookee what we gots here.” The male voice gave Eliza a start, and she looked up to find Max leaning on the railing beside her, a gleam in his eyes that sent terror slithering up her spine.

“What do you want?” Eliza inched away from him, casting a glance over her shoulder at the helmsman. He was no longer at the wheel.

Max snorted, a maniacal, lethal sort of snort that tightened the noose around her heart. “I’m thinkin’ you should be nicer to yer enemies, Mrs. Watts.”

“I’ve been more than polite to you, Max. Now if you please.” She clutched her skirts and turned to leave.

He yanked her arm. Pain spiked into her fingers, numbing them beneath his squeeze. “Yankees like you killed me wife and me only son. Took everything from me.”

“You’re hurting me.” She attempted a calm tone. He gripped her harder, drawing her close until his mouth hovered over her ear.

“Yer goin’ to pay for what your husband did, Yankee whore. An’ when I’m done with you, I’ll feed you to the sharks.”

A line of bluecoats emerged from the trees like garish devils. Another row appeared behind them. Then another and another as the first line spread out and took their positions, rifles at the ready. At the sight of so many troops, gasps and moans spilled from Blake’s men while others merely stared in numb horror. The young private standing next to Blake swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each nervous swallow. Henry Swanson had just turned seventeen last week. The camp cook had made him a small cake of cornmeal and molasses, and his company had thrown a celebration, complete with fiddle and harmonica. He was the same age Jeremy would have been. Had he lived. Which made Blake’s need to protect Henry all the more desperate. Blake gave the lad a reassuring nod, which had no effect on the terror flashing in the boy’s eyes.

The
rat-tat-tat
of drums and the eerie sound of a flute filled the air. Why were battles always accompanied by music? As if a patriotic tune could somehow rebuild the morale of a troop of dejected, defeated boys. Boys who should be back home on their farms helping with chores and courting pretty girls instead of facing an early death.

Grabbing the saddle horn, Blake planted his boot in the stirrup and mounted his thoroughbred. He stroked the horse’s sweaty neck. “That a boy, Reliance.” The steed pawed the muddy ground. Steam blasted from his nostrils. In over twenty major battles and thrice as many skirmishes, Blake had not once been injured while he rode atop Reliance.

Sensing the upcoming battle, horses pawed the ground and snorted while men muttered prayers. Officers bellowed commands. Cannons fired, shaking the ground. Smoke filled the air. Blake drew his sword, leveled it before him, and gave the order to charge.

If there was a hell, it surfaced on that field near Richmond, Virginia, on that cold October day in 1864. A barrage of smoke and fire and terrifying screams surrounded Blake. He slashed his way through the enemy ranks, dispatching Union soldiers left and right. Cannon fire pounded his ears—sent tremors through his body. Sparks from muskets lit up the smoke-filled air like fireflies at dusk. Blake gasped for a breath. Sweat stung his eyes. He swerved Reliance around to check on his men when fire ignited his leg. Reliance let out a pain-filled screech and started to fall. Blake tried to jump from the tumbling beast, but a Yankee soldier thrust a blade into Blake’s side. Gripping the wound, he toppled to the ground. Reliance dropped on top of his leg.

Sounds of battle faded into the distance as his own heartbeat thumped in his chest.
Thump, thuuump thuuuump
. The beat slowed, grew dimmer. He was going to die. He could no longer feel his leg. One glance told him that Reliance was dead. Pressing a hand over the blood oozing from his side, Blake turned his head in search of help. The vacant eyes of Henry Swanson stared back at him, a bullet in his forehead.

“No!” Blake screamed, unable to stop the tears flooding his eyes—unable to stop the vision of his brother, Jeremy, lying in a field like this poor lad, dying all alone.

“No! Jeremy! Jeremy!” Blake leaped from his hammock and landed on the deck on all fours. The brig rocked gently beneath his hands. Sweat dripped onto his fingers. He gasped for a breath. An ache rose in his leg. He rubbed it, struggling to rise. The bullet had struck an artery. If not for Reliance’s weight upon it, Blake would have bled out on that field.

“Jeremy?” James’s groggy voice sifted through the air.

Blake rose and leaned his hands on his legs, gathering his breath and settling his heart. “Go back to sleep.” Rubbing grief from his eyes, he pulled on his trousers, tossed a shirt over his head, and left the cabin before James could say another word. Blake didn’t feel like talking. He didn’t feel like thinking. All he wanted was some peace. Yet before he even made it above, thoughts of Eliza flooded his mind. After a nightmare like the one he’d just had, he would expect to feel nothing but fury toward her, yet all he found was an affection that, if she returned, promised to soothe away his bad dreams forever.

He’d been avoiding her for just that reason. After the incident with the birds and the tender moments they’d shared in the sick bay, Blake’s mind and heart had taken up arms and once again engaged in a fierce battle on the field of confusion. The worst of it was they often switched sides. One minute his mind wanted her to stay, but his heart demanded justice for his family. The next, his heart ached to be with her, but his mind refused entrance to a Yankee. At one point, the fighting became so intense, Blake believed he was going mad. Still, he had no idea what to do. But he did know one thing. Every day he spent on this brig, watching her care for everyone and forgive everyone who’d wanted her dead, both his heart and mind seemed ready to forfeit the battle.

He climbed on deck to a gentle night breeze and the smell of salt and damp wood. Scents he’d grown quite fond of these past months. A muffled squeal brought his gaze toward the foredeck. He peered into the darkness, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Thump. Groan
. Blake limped toward the sound.