ESCAPE TO PARADISE BOOK 1 FORSAKEN DREAMS
© 2013 by MaryLu Tyndall
Print ISBN 978-1-61626-597-7
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-62836-265-7
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-62836-266-4
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
Scripture quotations marked NKJV are taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover design: Faceout Studio, www.faceoutstudio.com
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
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Printed in the United States of America.
Table of Contents
Cast of Characters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
About the Author
“For man looks at the outward appearance,
but the LORD looks at the heart.”
1 SAMUEL 16:7 NKJV
Dedicated to all those who feel they never measure up.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost, I thank God for giving me the opportunity and ideas to continue writing novels for Him. I am nothing without Him. He is the Father I never had, a more loving father than I could have ever hoped for. I also owe my deepest thanks to everyone at Barbour Publishing for believing in me and continuing to publish my books! For all the extra effort every one of you puts into each novel, I thank you from the bottom of my heart!
I could not write without the support and love of my dear author friends: Laurie Alice Eakes, Louise M. Gouge, Debbie Lynne Costello, Ramona Cecil, Patty Hall, Julie Lessman, Laura Frantz, Ronie Kendig, Dineen Miller, Camy Tang, and Rita Gerlach. There are so many more I don’t have room to list here, but thank you all so much for your encouragement, prayers, and love!
Special thanks to Michelle Griep, who read this manuscript when it was raw and unpolished and loved it anyway!
And to my Motley Crew, the best crew who ever sailed the high seas! Your Captain loves you!
Last but not least, thank you, Traci DePree, for your continued expert editing and for making this book shine in places I didn’t know it could.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Magnolia Scott—Spoiled plantation owner’s daughter who hates her new life in Brazil and longs to return to Georgia to marry her fiancé. Constantly belittled by an unloving, domineering father, she believes her only value is in her appearance.
Hayden Gale—Con man who is searching for his father whom he believes is responsible for the death of his mother. Bent on revenge, he’ll do anything to punish the man who ruined his life, even becoming as much of a liar and cheat as his father was himself.
Colonel Blake Wallace—leader and organizer of the expedition to Brazil. A decorated war hero, Blake suffers from an old wound that causes him to limp. Blake is serious, commanding, and disciplined and feels the weight of responsibility for the colony’s success. He recently married Eliza Crawford.
Eliza Crawford Wallace—Blake’s wife and Confederate Army nurse who runs the colony’s clinic. Once married to a Yankee general, she was disowned by her Southern family. Eliza is impulsive, stubborn, courageous, and kind.
James Callaway—Confederate Army surgeon turned Baptist preacher who signed on as the Colony’s only doctor, but who suffers from a fear of blood. Feeling as much a failure at preaching as he does at doctoring, James nevertheless still pursues a higher purpose for the colony.
Angeline Moore—signed on as the colony’s seamstress, Angeline is a broken woman with a sordid past that she prefers to remain hidden. Unfortunately there are a few colonists who seem to recognize her from her prior life.
Mr. and Mrs. Scott—once wealthy plantation owners who claim to have lost everything in the war, they hope to regain their position and wealth in Brazil by marrying off their comely daughter to a Brazilian with money and title.
Wiley Dodd—ex-lawmen from Richmond who is fond of the ladies and in possession of a treasure map that points to Brazil as the location of a vast amount of gold.
Harmen Graves—Senator’s son and ex-politician from Maryland whose hopes to someday run for President were crushed when the South seceded from the Union. Hungry to rule over others, Graves slowly goes mad when he encounters a supernatural entity beneath an ancient temple that promises him riches and power.
Sarah Jordan—war widow who gave birth to her daughter Lydia on the ship that took them to Brazil, and who signed on to teach the colony’s children.
Thiago—personal interpreter and Brazilian liaison assigned to New Hope to assist the colonists settle in their new land.
Moses and Delia—a freed slave and his sister, along with her two children, who want to start over in a new land away from the memory of slavery.
Mable—slave to the Scotts.
CHAPTER 1
September 20, 1866
Colony of New Hope, the jungles of Brazil
Magnolia tumbled backward and fell, bottom first, into a mud puddle. Uttering an unladylike curse, she scowled at the black sludge splattered over her skirts. Footsteps pounded. Boots appeared in her vision. She knew whom they belonged to before she looked up. “Now, look what you’ve done!” Warm moisture soaked into her petticoats and undergarments. Chuckling sounded in the distance. A blistered, scraped hand extended toward her. “I’ve come to rescue you, fair maiden.” The voice strained to withhold laughter.
She glared up at the buffoon, Hayden Gale, a stowaway on their ship to this desolate place. Her gaze took in the sweat shining on his brow, the mischief twinkling in his green eyes, the dark stubble on his chin, then lowered to his bare chest visible through his open shirt—which was what had gotten her into trouble in the first place. His lips quirked into a grin.
“I believe you’ve assisted me quite enough.” Sinking her hands into the puddle, she struggled to rise, but her ridiculous crinoline prevented her from doing so in a ladylike fashion. She would have to accept his help. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun in the process. Gathering a handful of the black ooze Brazil was so famous for, she reached up and gripped his hand, smashing the mud against his palm until it trickled o
ut between their fingers. Not a flinch, not a tick, altered his grin. Not a flicker of surprise or anger crossed his eyes. Only a single eyebrow arched toward the sky. He pulled her to her feet then released her hand and shook off the offending slime. “I fail to see how your clumsiness is my fault.”
Plucking a handkerchief from her sleeve, Magnolia wiped the muck from her hands and arms as best as she could. In all her twenty-three years, she’d never been as dirty as she had been the past three months in Brazil. No matter how often she washed, there was always a smudge here, a stain there, a bit of perspiration where it ought not to appear on a lady. And forget trying to maintain a decent coiffeur. Lifting her chin, she started walking down the path. “You called my name, distracted me. And I tripped over a root.”
“You were staring at me for so long, I thought you might be in some sort of trouble.” He slid beside her, his knee-high boots sloshing in the mud.
“Staring at you? I was doing no such thing.” Magnolia halted, met his gaze, but then thought better of it, and instead scanned the large field where Hayden had been only moments before. Men picked and dug and hoed the earth in preparation for planting coffee and sugar. To the left of the field stood the thatched huts that formed the city of New Hope, their new colony in Brazil.
Hayden raked a hand through his dark brown hair, slicking it back. “I’m not blind, Princess. You were staring at me for several minutes. More like ogling, if you ask me. See something you like?” He grinned.
“Ogling! I was not—” Magnolia bit down her fury before she gave the insolent plebeian more reason to taunt her. “You, sir, are a cad. And my name is not Princess.” Uncomfortable at his closeness, she took a step back and nearly fell again. He reached for her, but she jerked to the side, trying with all her strength not to stare at his brick-firm chest peeking at her from within his shirt. A shirt he must have hastily donned when he’d seen her topple into the puddle.
It was that brick-firm chest, billowing with corded muscle and gleaming in the sun, that had stopped her in her tracks on her way back to camp. She’d become further mesmerized by his rounded biceps and the way his dark hair hung around his face while he dug furrows in the field. Mercy me, what was wrong with her? She’d never stared so boldly at a man before. Not even at Samuel, her fiancé. Yet, she’d never seen him with his shirt off. Yes, that must have been it. Surely that was it.
Hayden leaned toward her again and sniffed.
Magnolia flinched. “Whatever are you doing?”
“Just investigating the cause of your sudden clumsiness.”
Heat raged through her veins. He referred to her occasional need for spirits, of course. She glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot. “How dare you mention that in public. Besides, it’s not yet noon.”
“Ah.” His tone was sarcastic. “Then I shall be on the lookout after dinner in case you topple to the ground again.”
“I don’t drink every day, you fool. Oh, never mind. Why am I talking to you?”
“I don’t know. Why are you?” He cocked his head and studied her. He smelled of sweat and man.
“Because you will not leave.” Her gaze lowered to his lips and the remembrance of the kiss they’d shared on the ship that brought them to Brazil sent her belly spinning. Why couldn’t she forget about the silly incident? It had been nothing, really. Surely a rake like Hayden hadn’t given it a second thought.
“If you’ll excuse, me, sir. I must get back to camp.” She skirted around him, but he fell in beside her. “I’ll escort you.”
“No need. I’m in no danger.” Except from you, perhaps.
“I beg to differ, Princess. You never know when a root might leap out and trip you again.”
“Very amusing,” She hissed. Choosing to ignore Hayden, but very aware of his presence beside her, Magnolia forged ahead, batting aside insects as she went. There certainly hadn’t been so many carnivorous, flying pests in Georgia, had there? Georgia. The name of her homeland soothed her nerves like honeyed tea. They’d told her Brazil was a paradise, a Garden of Eden, but instead she found it to be a seething maze of vermin-infested vines compared to Georgia’s gentle rolling hills and sweet honeysuckle trees.
Why, oh why, had her parents forced her from their plantation in Roswell, Georgia, from her servants and slaves and balls and gowns and friends and—well, if she were honest, they really had lost most of those things in the war. But regardless, why had they forced her from all she knew and dragged her into the jungles of Brazil?
And then there was the heat. Not just any heat, but a heat that was visible in spirals of steam rising from the greenery around them. She dabbed the perspiration on her neck and face and drew in a breath of humid air that weighed down her lungs, making them as heavy as her heart. She must return home. She could not spend the rest of her life in this primordial wasteland, slaving and sweating and working like a commoner. Wasting her beauty on men who were far beneath her.
Like the man beside her. A working man, a stowaway on their ship. Why, he hadn’t even planned on joining the colony. And though he’d stayed and helped them clear the fields and set up camp, she sensed a restlessness in him. As if he were waiting for something, looking for something—which would explain his many long absences from the colony. No, Hayden was not the type of man to plant roots in a shoddy outpost. She sensed a kindred spirit in him—a need for wealth and success—which was why she tolerated his presence. When he found what he was looking for here in Brazil, perhaps she could convince him to take her back home.
She batted aside a tangled mass of lichen hanging from one of the trees as the sound of rushing water met her ears. The mighty river beside their new colony had lulled her to sleep many a night when her tears would not cease. It had been her only comfort as her parents snored on the other side of their hut, oblivious to her agony.
Always oblivious to her agony. Or perhaps they believed she deserved it. For the things she’d done.
“You should not venture so far away from camp,” Hayden offered as he plodded along beside her. “Thiago tells me there are wolves and jaguars in these jungles.”
“I was seeking fruit for our noon meal.”
“And yet you return empty-handed.” He smiled.
Magnolia huffed. “I couldn’t find any.” None she could reach, anyway. Besides, she was unaccustomed to work. Her family once owned the largest cotton plantation in Roswell. Her father even owned part of the famous Roswell Manufacturing Company—until the Yankees burned it to the ground. And he was also a member of the city council. She’d grown up with a bevy of slaves caring for her every whim. What did she know of menial work? She stared at the scrapes and mud marring what once had been white, silky skin on her hands and arms.
Hayden swept aside an oversized fern and gestured for her to proceed into the camp as if he were escorting her to a ball. Tightening her lips, she grabbed her skirts and brushed past him into the town of New Hope. Well, it wasn’t really a town. Not yet. It was just two rows of thatched huts of various sizes lining a wide sandy path. Nine buildings on the left, nine on the right, and three on the end that served as the clinic, town hall, and meeting shelter, complete with tables, chairs, and a large brick oven and fireplace. Not exactly the Southern utopia they’d hoped to build, but it was better than sleeping on the ground in a tent as they’d done when they’d first arrived on the shores of Brazil. In fact, they’d found these huts already built and filled with crude furniture—or rather, Hayden had found them—just a week after they entered the jungle, apparently abandoned by whoever had made them. James, their doctor turned preacher, had declared it a gift from God.
Magnolia was not so sure.
To the south of town, the river bubbled and gurgled as it made the two-mile journey down to the sea. Eventually, it would be their easiest means to transport their crops to the ocean where ships would then take them to market. That was, if they ever managed to work the tender soil and keep the encroaching jungle at bay long enough to bring t
he coffee and sugar to harvest. And if they built the cane press and mill they needed to process those crops with only twenty-eight men to do the work. Some of whom were unaccustomed to getting their hands dirty at all. They could have purchased slaves in Rio de Janeiro if Parson Bailey hadn’t absconded with all their money. Magnolia sighed, thinking of all the hardships they’d endured on the trip here and how many more were still to come.
If they didn’t make a success of the colony, they’d have to return home to the devastation of the war-torn South. Fine by her since she had a fiancé waiting for her, but most of the people had nothing to return to. Even worse, they faced persecution by the North.
As she headed down the path, women skittered about carrying pails of water and baskets of fruit. Sarah Jordan, the town’s teacher, lifted her gaze from where she knelt working in her vegetable garden and waved at Magnolia. The sound of hammers peppered the air as men reinforced the huts with cut branches and palm slats. Only temporary shelters, their leader Colonel Blake had said, until they could build proper homes. A luxury for which Magnolia’s father was not willing to wait.
“A Scott has never lived in a hut and never will live in a hut,” he had proclaimed with his usual aplomb.
Shielding her eyes, she peered into the distance beyond the town where Moses’s bronze back shimmered in the sun as he erected the frame of a large house. Her father had hired the ex-slave to build them a home “away from the riffraff of town.” How he intended to pay the man, Magnolia had no idea, since they hadn’t much money left to their name. But she had a feeling Moses was more than happy to do the work if it placed him closer to Mable, Magnolia’s personal slave. She had not missed the coy glances drifting between the two. Most unusual, for Magnolia had not assumed Negros capable of deep, abiding relationships.
But at least someone was enjoying their stay in this godforsaken place.
The home, however, was a sign her parents intended to stay. She never truly believed they would subject themselves to live like savages, but poverty did strange things to people. Poverty. She refused to accept that brand in life. If only she could return to Atlanta and marry Samuel, she’d never have to worry about money again.
Elusive Hope Page 1