Free Forsaken Dreams by MaryLu Tyndall

their discomfort. Which of course she couldn’t really do. Thank God she had not succumbed to the debilitating condition herself. Although being forced to traverse the cramped bowels of the ship like a gopher caused her stomach to clamp so tight, it forbade all passage of food anyway. It grew even worse when she had to visit the hold where most of the passengers were berthed. And where most of those who were still ill groaned and moaned and gripped their stomachs in agony. All she had on hand to help relieve their symptoms were mint tea and words of comfort. But that seemed trite in light of what they suffered.
    Now, as she made her way to the captain’s cabin to witness the stowaway’s interrogation by the captain and Colonel Wallace, despite her exhaustion, despite her hunger, her heart fluttered in her chest. Rebellious traitorous heart! Of course she’d seen the colonel on deck during these past three days, busy helping the captain, but they’d not had an opportunity to speak. Which was for the best, of course. Yet something about him tugged on her, drawing her thoughts and heart like the needle of a compass to true north. And as with a compass, there seemed to be naught she could do to change its direction.
    Maybe it was the sorrow that seemed to hover about him like thick, dark clouds gorged with rain. She’d seen many men afflicted in the same way during her years as a nurse. She’d also seen some of them find relief by simply sharing their horrors, their heartache and pain, with someone who cared. Perhaps she could be that someone for the colonel. Strictly as a friend, of course.
    Pressing down her blue tarlatan skirts, she squeezed through the corridor, thankful recent fashions had flattened the wide crinolette and moved it around back, or she might get stuck like a fat mouse in a maze in these narrow hallways. After knocking and hearing a call to enter, she opened the door and slipped inside the captain’s cabin. Her patient, the stowaway Hayden Gale, sat in a chair, looking none the worse for the pistol shot in his side. His long hair, the color of dark coffee, hung just below his collar, and though he pressed a hand over his wound, color had returned to his cheeks. Not an ounce of fear crossed his green eyes as he stared straight ahead at the captain.
    To his left stood Colonel Wallace, arms crossed over his chest. His black string tie hung limp over his white shirt as if he’d done battle with it and lost. James was behind him, while two of the captain’s officers guarded either side of the desk. Magnolia and her mother sat in the far corner, and Parson Bailey leaned against the bookshelves, nose in the air. Absent their coats—no doubt due to the rising heat—the bands tied around the men’s arms appeared stark against their white shirts. Black bands that had become such a familiar, yet depressing, sight throughout the South this past year. Bands of mourning that represented a loved one lost in the war. Every man in the room had at least one, save Hayden. The colonel sported five as far as Eliza could tell. Five . Her heart went cold at the sight.
    “Ah, there you are, Mrs. Crawford,” the captain said, shifting her attention his way. “We thought you should be here since Hayden is your patient.”
    The colonel approached and gestured toward an empty chair by the Scotts, giving her a smile that sent her heart spinning again and making her wonder what he had looked like in his uniform. Quite handsome, she imagined.
    “Now, Hayden, how did you come to be on my ship?” Captain Barclay leaned back in his chair, moving a pocket watch in between his fingers with astounding ease. Behind him, glittering shafts of morning sun bounced over the desk and the bulkheads, and over the stowaway, who snapped his hair from his face and huffed his displeasure at the question.
    “As I told you, it was purely by accident. I got shot, became delirious, and wandered on board unwittingly.”
    “Crawled all the way up