Elusive Hope

by Marylu Tyndall

  A shadow—no, more like a dark cloud—sped through a cluster of trees to their right.

  Hayden pivoted in that direction. Thiago pulled a pistol from his belt and cocked it. The sound echoed in the moist air. The crackling halted.

  The dark shadow sped to their left.

  Hayden’s chest tightened. “Who’s there?” he shouted.

  The leaves rustled. A large fern parted. Hayden raised his blade.

  CHAPTER 3

  Clutching her skirts, Angeline darted from the clinic, eyes on the ground, trying to get as far away as she could from Mr. Wiley Dodd. All the while, chastising herself for not staying in Rio de Janeiro when she had the chance. But how could she have made a living? She didn’t speak the language. Or have any skills. Except one. And that particular one she refused to use ever again. Which brought her back to Mr. Wiley Dodd. Wiley. The perfect name for the man, for he was as wily as a fox. Surely he recognized her. He had to. Then why hadn’t he told anyone else? Did he intend to blackmail her? If so, she wished he’d get on with it.

  To make matters worse, he’d been a lawman back in the States! From Norfolk of all places. Sweet saints, if he were to connect her to the woman the Norfolk police had been looking for, it would all be over. Her new beginning. Her second chance here in Brazil.

  Her life.

  Hugging herself, she hurried down the main street, forcing tears from her eyes, and barreled into a chest as firm and wide as a tree trunk. She brought her gaze up to see a thin cotton shirt plastered against muscles bulging from exertion. Oddly, the sight brought her no alarm. Just the opposite, in fact. She gasped and took a step back, raising her gaze at least a foot to the sprinkling of dark stubble on a rounded chin, the slant of steady lips, and finally to the bronze eyes of the doctor turned preacher. “Pardon me, James. I didn’t see you.”

  The corners of those bronze eyes now crinkled in concern. “Are you all right, Miss Angeline?” He cocked his head and touched her arm. “You’ve been crying.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Something wrong at the clinic?”

  “No. nothing like that.” She slipped from his touch. Not because it bothered her. But because it didn’t. In fact, she rather liked it. She dropped her gaze to see mud sprinkled over his Jefferson boots and splattered on his brown trousers held up by a thick belt into which a pistol was stuffed. So odd for a preacher, but then again the jungle wasn’t exactly Jackson Avenue in Knoxville, Tennessee, where the man had grown up. And where she’d met him that dark, bleak night over a year ago. He’d claimed to be a preacher then as well, though he’d behaved like nothing of the sort. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to recognize her from their brief encounter. She refused to ponder the odds of having met, prior to their journey to Brazil, two of the twenty-eight men in a colony of strangers. If there was a God, He was definitely not on her side.

  Yet, now, standing so close to James and seeing the way he glanced around ensuring no one was bothering her, all thoughts of that conundrum, along with fears of Wiley Dodd, fled like bats in the sun. And she felt safe. As she always did in the doctor’s presence.

  As she had that night on the ship when he’d risked his life to pull her from the sea. The night she’d tried to end her misery once and for all. Despite her agony, despite her wish to die, she’d felt safe in his arms as he carried her, dripping wet, across the deck. He’d been bare-chested then. Why was she, now, having so much trouble keeping her eyes off him with his shirt on? Sweet saints, Angeline. He’s a man of God!

  As if possessing an uncanny ability to read her thoughts, his face reddened and he shifted his stance. A breeze tossed the tips of wheat-colored hair across his collar. “I was coming to get some water for the men working the field.” He glanced toward the open stretch of land beyond the town. “Forgive me for my slovenly attire, Miss Angeline.”

  His sudden nervousness brought a smile to her lips. “No need to apologize, Doctor. None of us can keep up appearances like we used to.”

  The blacksmith’s wife passed them with a nod, a basket of oranges in hand.

  James swept his gaze back to Angeline and smiled. His expression grew sober. “If there is something or someone bothering you, I hope you know you can come to me.”

  “I do.” But she wouldn’t. How could someone like her ever think to approach a preacher with her problems?

  “Well, then, I must get back. Good-day to you, Miss Angeline.” He had the most genuine sounding voice she’d ever heard. As if he meant every word he said. She nodded as he skirted around her on his way to the river. And she felt the loss of him immediately.

  “I expect to see you at Sunday Services,”he called over his shoulder.

  Sunday services. So far she’d been able to avoid them with one excuse or another. Not that she didn’t believe in God. But simply because she was sure He no longer believed in her.

  “I almost killed you, Graves!” Hayden lowered his machete while Thiago uncocked his pistol and stuffed it back into his belt. “What in the Sam Hill are you doing out here, anyway?”

  “Just exploring like you.”Graves gave a sly grin that angled one half of his black mustache down to his chin. “Difference is”—he glanced at the web of greenery above them and sighed—“I found something for my trouble.”

  Hayden raised his brows, his interest piqued, along with his annoyance. The mysterious Mr. Graves had kept his distance from the others throughout the entire sea voyage and now in their new town as well. He hailed himself as a politician who once ran for the senate until the war killed his plans, along with his family. And just like a politician, he refused to do any real work, preferring instead to wander the jungles in search of food and supplies. Or so he claimed. Hayden had yet to see him return with anything of value.

  “Do tell, Graves, what did you find?” Hayden plucked a cloth from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his head and neck, trying to mask his irritation.

  “Come and see.”Without waiting for a reply, Graves swerved about and disappeared into the shrubbery. Hayden should have ignored the cantankerous man. He should have continued with his own search, but his curiosity got the better of him and he started after him, Thiago in his wake.

  Graves was easy to track. Dressed in his usual black trousers, black shirt, and waistcoat, he reminded Hayden of the dark shadow he’d just seen flitting through the greenery. Or had he seen anything at all? He thought to ask Thiago about the odd mist, but didn’t want to sound foolish. Probably just an illusion brought on by the heat and humidity, which seemed to rise with each step he took. he longed to take off his boots, but he’d seen too many snakes and insects to risk tromping around barefooted. Sweat slid down his back and covered his neck. Slicing a piece of twine from a nearby plant, he tied his hair behind him. What a sight he must be. He certainly looked nothing like the gallant gentleman he presented himself as whenever he’d been working a scam. His thoughts drifted to Mrs. Henley, the charming, beautiful Katherine Henley. How her face would light up when Hayden sauntered into a room wearing his silk-lined suit of black broadcloth and stylish top hat. He knew the first time he’d met her at the horse races in Louisville that he would soon have her swooning at his feet, willing to do anything he asked. He grinned. He’d made at least two thousand dollars off her. Not bad for only a few week’s work. But, of course, the lady’s husband was none too pleased when He discovered she’d purchased an empty, useless cave instead of a silver mine. Hayden hoped the man hadn’t been too hard on her. He shrugged off a twinge of guilt before halting and glancing up at the canopy.

  Thiago bumped into him from behind. “What is it, senhor?”

  “Do you hear that?”

  “No.”

  “Exactly. The birds have stopped chirping. And where is the incessant drone of insects?”

  Thiago ran a hand through his dark hair and looked around. “You are right. They are gone.”

  “Over here!” Graves’s shout lured Hayden onward, the crunch of leaves beneath their fee
t the only sound filtering through the trees. Despite the heat, a chill slithered down his back. He hoped he wasn’t walking into a trap. The thought caused a curse to emerge from his lips as he plunged through one final thicket and nearly bounced off a massive stone wall that was at least ten feet high.

  “Holy Mary, mother of God.” Thiago crossed himself.

  “What is this place?” Hayden shifted his shoulders beneath a palpable heaviness in the air.

  “This way.” Graves gestured. Hayden had never seen the man so exuberant. Which made him feel even more uneasy. They followed the wall as it curved around the clearing, no doubt enclosing something within. A fort, perhaps? But out in the middle of the jungle?

  “I do not like this.” Thiago moaned from behind as they came to an opening that must have been the entrance but was now merely a rotted wooden gate strangled by green vines.

  “Isn’t it incredible?” Graves slapped the stones with his hand. “Looks to be quite old. Perhaps built by natives.”

  Incredible? A different word came to Hayden’s mind—disturbing. Though covered with moss and vines, the stone structure stood as a firm reminder that whoever built it had been trying to keep something out. “If natives erected this, it makes one wonder what they were afraid of.” Hayden shifted his stance and glanced from Graves to Thiago. Didn’t they feel the heaviness in the air?

  “Perhaps, they feared Lobisón,” Thiago said as he gazed up at the wall’s height and then peered around the corners of the broken gate to examine the thickness of the wood. “Or something far worse.”

  Hayden wondered what could be worse than a man that turned into a wolf but thought it wise not to ask. He already had the urge to turn and run and never come back, to trust his instincts—the ones he’d honed living on the streets. They had saved his life more than once and now they were telling him to scurry out of there as fast as he could.

  Yet, what if his father had come this way, stayed here, left a clue?

  Without a word, Graves slid through the opening and disappeared within.

  Hayden started after him when Thiago clutched his arm. Wide eyes met his. “I do not think we should go in, senhor.”

  “Stay here if you wish, but I must see what’s inside.” Turning, Hayden entered and halted beside Graves. Across a courtyard infested with weeds and vines and broken pottery, at least twenty stone obelisks rose from the ground like mummies from a mass grave. Hayden made his way to the closest one and brushed aside the vines to find an engraved collage of gnarled faces in various postures of agony. His stomach clenched. He backed away, shifting his gaze to two rectangular slabs of stone, lying prostrate upon blocks of granite. A massive fire pit rose from the center of the clearing. Scattered around it lay broken wooden idols and stained blades whose handles had long since rotted off. Beyond the clearing, a crumbling building rose from the greenery like a monster from a swamp. Columns that reminded Hayden of a plantation house held up a flat roof and formed an open air portico that faded into darkness.

  “Looks to be a temple of some sort.” Graves remarked as he tromped across the courtyard, his tone one of enthusiasm.

  Shaking his head, Hayden slowly moved toward one of the tables. In between the moss and vines, dark stains peered up at him from the light stone. His stomach convulsed. “If this is a temple, I don’t think it’s a Christian one.”

  “No.” Thiago’s tremulous voice came from just inside the gate where he stood frozen. “These are ruins of Tupi. They were cannibals.”

  Hayden’s glance returned to the fire pit, shifted to the ancient blades, then moved to the stains on the table. Bile rose in his throat. Gagging, he bent over, praying he wouldn’t vomit and embarrass himself in front of these men.

  “Cannibals?” Graves’s dark eyes flashed.

  Hayden took a deep breath and rose to his full height.

  Pulling an amulet from his pocket, Thiago crossed himself again. “I wait outside.”

  Hayden longed to go with him, but he couldn’t seem to move. Instead he stared at the ghastly scene, imagining what horrors must have occurred within its walls.

  A caw caw drew his gaze upward to a black bird with the wingspan as wide as a man was tall. The odd sight kept Hayden riveted as the beastly bird crossed the clearing and disappeared. Something about the bird, its size, the loneliness in its cry, caused air to seize in his lungs.

  Graves headed toward the temple where he plucked a torch from a holder on the wall, struck a match, and lit it. “I’m going in to explore. Join me?”

  “I’ll wait here,” Hayden said. If his father had come this way, Hayden should find some evidence in the courtyard. There was no reason to subject himself to further horrors.

  Graves gave him a taunting snort before he mounted the steps and entered the building with the exuberance of a child at Christmas.

  As disturbing as his presence was, Graves’s absence left Hayden alone with the dark foreboding he’d felt upon entering this fiendish site. He ran his sleeve over the sweat on his brow and started his search of the area, careful not to touch anything. He’d grown so accustomed to hearing the chatter of the jungle that the absence of it spiked his nerves. Perhaps that was the reason for his discomfort. He prayed that was the only reason.

  He circled one of the obelisks, cringing at the tormented faces carved into the stone and wondered if these were the faces of those who’d been killed by the Tupi. His chest tightened. He backed away. The crackling returned. Soft like the sound of waves, yet harsh as if a thousand fires were lit all around him. Hayden drew his machete and swerved around. No one was there.

  Then she appeared. Materialized out of the torrid air like a mirage in the desert. Yet unlike a mirage, she stood before him as real and vibrant as he remembered her. Mrs. Katherine Henley, hair cascading around her head in a bouquet of golden curls. Striking emerald eyes, now swimming in tears.

  Hayden rubbed his own eyes, hoping to sweep away the vision, but still she remained. He reached for her. She retreated.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why did you do it?”

  Hayden swallowed. This can’t be happening. It’s the heat. His thirst, this evil place playing tricks on his mind.

  “I thought you loved me. You told me you loved me.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, glistening in the bright sun.

  “You’re not here. You’re not real.” Hayden clenched his jaw.

  “Is that what you think? That I don’t feel the pain you caused me?” Her sorrowful expression turned as hard as the stone obelisk they stood beside. Rosy lips drew into a cracked gray line. Her eyes turned to slate. “You think you can’t hurt people simply because, to you, they aren’t real. I know who you are, Hayden Gale. I know who you are!”

  Hayden’s heart thundered in his chest. He was going to be sick. Tearing away from her, he ran up the stairs of the temple and plunged into the darkness after Graves. Thoughts dashed in his mind, racing past impossibility. Someone had to be playing a trick on him. But nobody knew about Katherine. Nobody but him.

  Darkness enveloped him and with it came another kind of heaviness. It pressed on his shoulders as if the air weighed more inside the building than without. A light fluttered from a dark corner.

  “Ah, you’ve gained your courage, I see.” Graves’s voice echoed over the stone walls. “Come here. I’ve found something quite interesting.”

  Hayden squinted as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. The room extended so far back he couldn’t see the end. Rotting chairs, tables, and bowls littered the cold, stone floor, along with dirt and dried weeds. A collection of handmade axes and swords hung on one wall. Hayden glanced over his shoulder and scanned the courtyard but Katherine was gone. Just an illusion. Of course. Hadn’t he just been thinking of her? No doubt his guilt had gotten the better of him. He drew a deep breath of dank air that smelled of mold and agony.

  The flicker of Graves’s torch drew Hayden’s gaze, and he headed toward him with one thought in mind—to drag the madman out of here and lea
ve this place posthaste. A rancid smell much like rotten fruit assailed him as he passed a large pond circled in stone. Steam spiraled off the dark water like misty fingers rising from the grave. Apprehension twisted his gut and he hurried along, his gaze drawn to metallic engravings that decorated the entire back wall. Torch light glinted off a golden crescent moon surrounded by stars that hung above what appeared to be a stone altar. Thinking this must be what drew Graves’s attention, Hayden faced him, intending to make a joke that they shouldn’t tell Dodd about the temple or he’d strip the place of all its gold. But Graves wasn’t looking at the golden moon. He was staring at words etched into the stone above an opening to the side of the altar.

  “Do you know what this says, my friend?” Graves held the torch up to the lintel.

  Hayden glanced at the words. Latin? How had Latin words come to be written in the middle of a Brazilian jungle? “No.”

  “It says ‘Beware, the Catacomb of the Four.’ ”

  CHAPTER 4

  Back in New Hope, Hayden slid his knife across the bark and watched the mahogany curl beneath his blade. One of the many wonderful things this jungle possessed was a variety of rare, exotic wood. His good friend, a furniture maker from Savannah, would be happier than a beaver in a woodshed with such abundance. Smiling at the thought, Hayden carved another slice, carefully shaping the wood like a potter molding clay. The smell of roasted fish and fried bananas stirred his stomach to life, and he looked up to see several of the farmer’s wives hovering about the massive brick fire pit at the edge of the meeting shelter. At least that was what the colonists were calling the large pavilion left by the previous settlers. Based on the table and several chairs scattered beneath the palm-frond roof, Hayden assumed the area must have been used for meetings, for sharing meals, and perhaps even for the occasional party. But why had his father’s colony left after working so hard to erect the huts and build all the furniture? Not to mention felling trees and clearing away part of the jungle for planting crops?