situation.”
“I still have the knowledge up here.” James poked his head and gave a sheepish grin. “It’s the hands that don’t work anymore.”
Blake rubbed his eyes and sighed, listening to the rush of seawater against the hull. It did much to soothe his nerves. “Well, I’m thankful Eliza could handle things.” He studied his new friend for a moment, noting the way he clasped his hands together before him and stared at them as if they were foreign objects. “What’s wrong with them?”
“I can’t seem to stop them from shaking. Been like that since I left the assault on Petersburg in ‘84.”
“Petersburg? I was there. Got a bullet in my leg to prove it.”
James snorted. “Odd that it might have been me who tended your leg, but I don’t remember.”
“But you said you left?”
James nodded, his gaze still lowered.
“We won that battle,” Blake said.
A moment passed in silence. “Still we lost nearly three thousand men that day.” The trembling in James’s hands increased. He clamped them together. “I couldn’t stand it another minute. The blood, the agony, the mutilation of so many young men. Boys, really. I had to get away. So I ran away. Threw myself back into God’s arms, into the preaching my father planned for me to do all along.” He finally glanced up, a haunted look in his eyes, and rubbed the scar on his cheek. “But even that didn’t help. Brazil is my last hope.”
Emotion burned in Blake’s throat. How many times had he felt like running away from the war, the stress and horror of battle after battle? But he was a colonel. His regiment depended on him. He had to do his duty. As a civilian doctor, James’s situation was different. He’d dealt with amputated limbs and disgorged bowels and anguish and death all day and night with nothing but conscience to keep him at task. How could Blake blame him for leaving when he doubted conscience and duty would have been enough to keep him in such a hell?
He liked James. Straightforward, honest, humble. Blake had commanded enough men to recognize strength and goodness in a man’s eyes. Besides, he could hardly fault James for trembling hands when Blake had his own visions and blackouts. “Brazil is the last hope for many of us,” he finally said, his tone softening. Smiling, he gripped James’s shoulder then grabbed his coat from a hook on the wall. “Come along, the captain will be waiting on us. I, for one, am looking forward to our first meal on board the ship.”
James rose, straightened his string tie in the cracked mirror, and followed Blake down a long corridor and up a hatch where they emerged onto the main deck to a blast of wind and a magnificent starlit sky. Both stole Blake’s breath away. Catching his balance on the rolling deck, he halted and gazed up at the million glittering diamonds spread across a black velvet curtain.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” James said.
“Indeed.”
All seemed quiet on deck. Most of the sails had been lowered and furled for the night, keeping only topsails faced to the wind. The first mate stood at the helm. Other passengers mulled about, but it was Mr. Graves, the ex-politician, who drew Blake’s attention. He leaned over the starboard railing, cigar in hand, babbling something at the sea. Blake hoped the man wasn’t mad. He had chosen him for his knowledge of government, which they would desperately need as their colony grew into a city. But it wouldn’t do to have a lunatic organizing things.
It also wouldn’t do to be pursued by a Union ship. The dark horizon offered Blake no glimpse of what dangers lurked beyond even as the smell of gunpowder still haunted his nose from his close encounter leaving Charleston. Still, the Union had better things to do than chase down one war criminal. And if Blake’s memory served, there were no navy ships anchored in Charleston ready to depart at a moment’s notice. The war was over, after all.
Shrugging off his worries, Blake
“I still have the knowledge up here.” James poked his head and gave a sheepish grin. “It’s the hands that don’t work anymore.”
Blake rubbed his eyes and sighed, listening to the rush of seawater against the hull. It did much to soothe his nerves. “Well, I’m thankful Eliza could handle things.” He studied his new friend for a moment, noting the way he clasped his hands together before him and stared at them as if they were foreign objects. “What’s wrong with them?”
“I can’t seem to stop them from shaking. Been like that since I left the assault on Petersburg in ‘84.”
“Petersburg? I was there. Got a bullet in my leg to prove it.”
James snorted. “Odd that it might have been me who tended your leg, but I don’t remember.”
“But you said you left?”
James nodded, his gaze still lowered.
“We won that battle,” Blake said.
A moment passed in silence. “Still we lost nearly three thousand men that day.” The trembling in James’s hands increased. He clamped them together. “I couldn’t stand it another minute. The blood, the agony, the mutilation of so many young men. Boys, really. I had to get away. So I ran away. Threw myself back into God’s arms, into the preaching my father planned for me to do all along.” He finally glanced up, a haunted look in his eyes, and rubbed the scar on his cheek. “But even that didn’t help. Brazil is my last hope.”
Emotion burned in Blake’s throat. How many times had he felt like running away from the war, the stress and horror of battle after battle? But he was a colonel. His regiment depended on him. He had to do his duty. As a civilian doctor, James’s situation was different. He’d dealt with amputated limbs and disgorged bowels and anguish and death all day and night with nothing but conscience to keep him at task. How could Blake blame him for leaving when he doubted conscience and duty would have been enough to keep him in such a hell?
He liked James. Straightforward, honest, humble. Blake had commanded enough men to recognize strength and goodness in a man’s eyes. Besides, he could hardly fault James for trembling hands when Blake had his own visions and blackouts. “Brazil is the last hope for many of us,” he finally said, his tone softening. Smiling, he gripped James’s shoulder then grabbed his coat from a hook on the wall. “Come along, the captain will be waiting on us. I, for one, am looking forward to our first meal on board the ship.”
James rose, straightened his string tie in the cracked mirror, and followed Blake down a long corridor and up a hatch where they emerged onto the main deck to a blast of wind and a magnificent starlit sky. Both stole Blake’s breath away. Catching his balance on the rolling deck, he halted and gazed up at the million glittering diamonds spread across a black velvet curtain.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” James said.
“Indeed.”
All seemed quiet on deck. Most of the sails had been lowered and furled for the night, keeping only topsails faced to the wind. The first mate stood at the helm. Other passengers mulled about, but it was Mr. Graves, the ex-politician, who drew Blake’s attention. He leaned over the starboard railing, cigar in hand, babbling something at the sea. Blake hoped the man wasn’t mad. He had chosen him for his knowledge of government, which they would desperately need as their colony grew into a city. But it wouldn’t do to have a lunatic organizing things.
It also wouldn’t do to be pursued by a Union ship. The dark horizon offered Blake no glimpse of what dangers lurked beyond even as the smell of gunpowder still haunted his nose from his close encounter leaving Charleston. Still, the Union had better things to do than chase down one war criminal. And if Blake’s memory served, there were no navy ships anchored in Charleston ready to depart at a moment’s notice. The war was over, after all.
Shrugging off his worries, Blake
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