Elusive Hope

by Marylu Tyndall

  “Well, you aren’t bald now.” Eliza held one of Magnolia’s long strands in front of her. After touching it, Magnolia released a shuddering sigh.

  “Nothing here.” Blake joined them.

  “No animal tracks at all,” James added.

  “But the crackling.” Magnolia stared into the jungle, wiping her face. “The voices. Did you hear them?”

  Blake’s gaze snapped to Magnolia.

  “No. We didn’t hear anything,” Elisa said.

  Hayden rubbed his eyes, angry that this woman’s insecurity and propensity to drink caused so much unnecessary trouble. Yet hadn’t he heard crackling at the temple right before Katherine Henley appeared? How strange that Magnolia heard the same sound before seeing something that wasn’t there. But no, it was only Hayden’s guilt and Magnolia’s insecurity that caused these illusions. Nothing more. Then why did Blake continue to stare at Magnolia as if her ramblings made sense?

  “Let’s get back to camp, shall we?” he finally said.

  Hayden agreed. He’d left a half-eaten supper he intended to finish. They all started back when Magnolia halted, tugged from Eliza’s grip, and darted back toward the creek mumbling something about shoes.

  “I’ll watch over her,” Hayden offered. No sense in the foolish girl keeping them all from their food. With a nod, Eliza looped her arm through her husband’s as they joined James on his way back to camp.

  “Where are my shoes?” Magnolia pointed toward the sand. “They were right there.”

  “Drop the charade, Princess. Everyone is gone, and I’m not buying it.”

  “Not buying wha—” She spun to face him with what looked like real tears in her eyes. Hayden grinned. Ah, yes. She was good. He’d give her that. But she had no idea who she was dealing with.

  Those eyes turned to glaciers as she planted hands on her hips. “You think I’m lying? You think I made up the crackling sound and the baldness. Why would I do that?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “For attention. Or because you’ve had too much to drink.”

  “I’m not drunk.” She stomped her foot. “I know what I saw.” She gazed down at the mud dripping from the hem of her gown and groaned. “And I don’t care what you think. Where are my parents? Didn’t they hear me scream?” Her gaze darted toward the camp.

  So that was it. She’d staged this to test her parents’ love for her. But Hayden knew they weren’t coming. Her father had risen from his seat, seen Hayden and the others speeding by, and then sat back down to finish his meal. Did he not care for his daughter at all or was he so accustomed to allowing others to do his work, that he left the safety of his own family in their hands?

  Poor girl. A wave of sympathy flooded him as a breeze swept the ivory tips of her loose hair across her waist. Standing there—silent—a look of innocence and desperation on her face, she looked like a sad forest sprite, all glitter and beauty. And something within Hayden stirred.

  She swung her gaze to his and huffed, breaking the spell. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you want to kiss me again.”

  “Again?” he toyed with her.

  Her lips drew tight. “I know you remember.” He caught a glimpse of her glassy eyes in the moonlight before she turned and began stomping back to camp, mumbling, “Incorrigible man.”

  But she was right about one thing.

  He did want to kiss her.

  CHAPTER 6

  Leave?” Blake looked up from his desk in the large hut that served as New Hope’s town hall, looking more like the army colonel he used to be, rather than the leader of a meager colony in Brazil. A stack of papers, a gold pocket watch, a set of quill pens and ink, a tilting pile of books, and a telescope from the ship spread across the top in a haphazard manner that was at odds with the colonel’s regimented style. Setting down his pen, Blake sighed as he eyed the ledger he’d been writing in then leaned back in his chair.

  Hayden didn’t envy the task of keeping accounts for the colony. Though he’d always been good at making money, he’d never been good at managing it properly. Or holding on to it.

  Shifting his boots over the tamped dirt floor, he drew a deep breath of sweat, coffee, and gunpowder. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. So instead of facing Blake, he glanced over the shelves housing their dwindling supplies: sacks of rice, beans, flour, coffee, and dried beef. Extra shovels, picks, axes, and rakes were propped against the wall, ready to be moved to the barn when it was built. Lanterns and candles lined shelves behind Hayden, along with whale oil, extra canvas, and tar. Finally, he faced forward and glanced at James, who sat on a chair beside Blake’s desk. Rays from the setting sun floated in through the window and hallowed his body in gold, making him look like the preacher he claimed to be.

  Angling his shoulders, Hayden stretched his back and gazed at his two friends. Though their skin was tanned a golden brown from hours in the sun, and dirt smudged their tattered clothes, both looked more robust and healthy than when he’d first met them on board the ship over four months ago. He wondered if the same were true for himself, for he’d never felt better, except for the sorrow welling in his gut at the thought of leaving them. His friends. He’d never really had friends before.

  James stood. “You can’t be serious. We are going to plant within the week. You’ve put so much work into this town.”

  Hayden stared at the ground. “It cannot be helped. I belong in a city, not a jungle,” he lied. Truthfully, he had loved his time here in Brazil, away from the filth and crime that always encroached where large groups of humans inhabited, here out in the fresh air, perfumed with the sweet smells of the jungle,where fruit was plentiful and life was simple. Where everyone worked together—well, almost everyone—to build a new world. Where, for the first time in his life, he had put in a hard day’s work and been rewarded for it. With muscle aches, yes. But aches he was proud of. Aches that came from honest work. Aches that caused a twinge of something foreign inside him, something he’d never expected to feel—self-respect. Not only that, but he had earned the respect of the two men who stood before him—men who wouldn’t have given him a moment of their time back in the States. And that had been worth all the money he’d ever swindled.

  But he couldn’t stay. He had a man to find. A debt to pay. He’d promised his mother on her death bed.

  Blake hobbled around the desk. His uneven gait from an old war wound did nothing to detract from his commanding presence, nor from the frustration masking his face. “I realize you were a stowaway on this journey, but you have fit in with the colony so nicely. You’re a hard worker and an honorable man.”

  Hayden stifled the chuckle in his throat.

  “And I’ve come to depend on you,” Blake continued. “We all have.”

  “Indeed.”The doctor’s brow wrinkled.“You’ve taken on a leadership role among us. The town needs men like you.”

  Hayden crossed his arms over his chest and gazed out the window. He had expected opposition. He had expected frustration, even anger. He hadn’t expected to be cloaked in praise. Especially from the two men he admired most in the world. He cleared his throat. “I appreciate that. I truly do. But there is something I must do.”

  “Here in Brazil?” Blake asked.

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But I must go to Rio to find out.” Hayden silently chastised himself for saying far too much already, but the look of sorrow and concern in his friends’ eyes was chipping away at his wall of resolve. “I cannot tell you any more than that.”

  Blake nodded and leaned back on his desk with a sigh. “It will be difficult without you.”

  James rubbed the scar angling down the side of his mouth. “Then there’s a chance you will return?”

  “A slight chance.” Hayden shrugged. “Time will tell.”

  “When are you leaving?” Blake asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “On foot?” James asked.

  “Yes, Thiago gave me
directions. It shouldn’t take more than five days if I travel quickly.”

  “All alone in the jungle?” Blake asked.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  Blake nodded. “Since you’ll be in Rio, would you inform Mr. Santos that we’ve moved our location a mile west and that once we have planted our crops and started building the town, we will send Thiago back with the exact acreage we intend to purchase as stated on our provisional title?”

  “Of course,” Hayden said. He needed to speak to the immigration officer anyway.

  Rising, Blake clutched Hayden’s shoulders, his gray eyes pointed and somber. “We will miss you, Hayden. Be safe and God speed.” He released him and sighed heavily.

  Thankfully, before Hayden’s eyes grew moist and he embarrassed himself.

  “I will pray for you every day, my friend.” James gave a sad smile. “And in particular that you will return to us soon. You always have a home in New Hope.”

  Hayden extended his hand to the doctor, but the man drew him into an embrace instead, slapping his back before releasing him and turning away.

  Hayden shifted his face from their view. Clearing his throat, he nodded and grunted his thanks to both men before hurrying out the door. He’d never had a home. At least none he remembered with fondness. After his mother had been killed, he’d never had a family either. He’d been a gypsy, a drifter. He should be used to it. Then why was it so hard to leave this silly town?

  Brushing aside leaves, Magnolia crept up to two men circling a fire just outside of town. Unable to sleep, she’d left her parents’ hut, thinking some fresh air and listening to anything but her father’s snoring would help settle her nerves. But the distant flicker of flames soon lured her to the outskirts of town. She wouldn’t have ventured any farther except that she could make out Mr. Lewis’s and Thiago’s faces in the firelight. Harmless enough men. And she’d been meaning to speak to Mr. Lewis anyway. The friendly old carpenter, who reminded her of the bumbling overseer on their plantation back home, had a mind that dwarfed the size of his heart. All she had to do was smile and plant a kiss on his bristly cheek and he happily shared whatever spirits he had on his person.

  And she sure could use a drink tonight.

  So intent on whatever they were doing over the flames, the two men didn’t hear her approach—didn’t hear the leaves rustle or the twig snap beneath her boots. Didn’t even turn until she said, “Whatever are you doing, gentlemen?” The teasing reprimand in her voice sent fear skittering across their faces.

  “Oh, mercy me, don’t trouble yourselves. Whatever it is, I won’t tell a soul.” She curled a hand on her hip. “As long as you let me in on it.” Her grin disarmed them, and they both smiled in return.

  Mr. Lewis returned his attention to the contraption sitting atop the flames, while Thiago rose to usher her close. “We make rum—Brazilian rum.”

  Delight filtered through her. “Oh, I knew I smelled something delicious.” Adjusting her crinoline and multiple petticoats, she lowered herself onto a stump while Mr. Lewis checked a thermometer that was perched inside an iron pot hanging over the fire. Tubes sprang from holes in the container’s sides and ran down to another kettle sitting in a bowl of water off to the side.

  The old carpenter looked up, flames flickering over his pudgy face. “It’s a distiller, miss.”

  “We distill sugarcane juice,” Thiago added. “Make pinga, or rum. Very good.” His handsome eyes sparkled as he took a seat beside her. Tall, lithe, tanned, with dark features, the interpreter’s exotic looks were not without appeal, though he possessed a boyish impetuousness that prevented a more serious look. Besides, he had no wealth nor prominent position in Brazilian society.

  “I should have known you’d be up to mischief, Mr. Lewis.” She teased the old carpenter.

  He chuckled. “Well, miss, our drinking supplies are rapidly shrinking. So when Thiago, here, informed me he knew how to make this pinga, so famous here in Brazil, what was a man to do?”He winked.

  Thiago’s brow wrinkled. “You will not tell anyone.”

  “She won’t.” Mr. Lewis answered with a sly smile. “Not if she wants us to share.”

  The fire crackled, shooting sparks into the air as the smell of smoke and night-blooming orchids battled for preeminence.

  Magnolia placed a finger over her lips. “On my honor, my lips are sealed. Now”—she glanced around—“do you have any of this ping…pinga for sampling?”

  “Ah, sim…yes.” Thiago pulled a flask from his shirt pocket. “We made some last week.” He uncorked it and handed it to her.

  “Good thing ’cause I only have one more bottle of rum from the ship.” Mr. Lewis scowled. “That is, unless Hayden can bring some back from Rio.”

  Hayden? Rio? Magnolia batted away a bug and took a sip. The pungent liquid stung her tongue, filling her mouth with a spicy orange taste. She coughed and struggled to breathe.“Mercy”—her voice sounded like an old woman’s—“but this is strong.”

  Both men chuckled. The buzz of cicadas intensified around them, reminding Magnolia of the odd crackling she’d heard the other night. “But what is this about Hayden and Rio?”

  “He leaves tomorrow.” A breeze tossed Thiago’s shoulder-length hair behind him as he stared at the fire. “I tell him best way to walk to Rio from here. I will miss him. We travel jungle together much.”

  “Tomorrow?” Magnolia took another sip of pinga, wondering why her heart suddenly cinched in her chest. “Why is he going? For supplies?”

  “He say he not happy here. Did not find what he look for.”

  “He’s not coming back?”Magnolia felt like she weighed a thousand pounds. She took another drink to ease the pain and was pleased when her mind began to numb.

  That numbness, however, did not reach her heart. Not even after several more sips.

  Three hours later, with valise stuffed and swung over her shoulder, Magnolia shoved aside the canvas door of Hayden’s hut and entered the dark room. She had never been in a man’s bedchamber before, and her heart did a hard tumble in her chest as she stood there frozen, focusing on the sound of male snoring, seeing nothing but shadows. She hated disturbing his sleep—had paced in front of his hut for hours—but she had no choice. What if he left before she’d had a chance to speak to him? Then she’d be stuck in this bug-infested jungle forever.

  Hayden was her last chance.

  She took a step toward his cot, the edge of which was visible now in a stream of moonlight drifting through the window. A dove cooed outside and somewhere in the distance a growl rumbled through the jungle, reminding her why she needed this man’s protection on the way to Rio. If only he would agree to take her.

  Another step and she could smell him. All musk and man. Not an offensive smell, but a scent that brought delight to her heart, much like the smell of peach pie brought a flood of good memories from her childhood. He stirred and shifted position, his arm landing in the moonlight. His hand—twice the size of hers—bore scrapes and calluses from his work in the fields. She hoped he wouldn’t get the wrong idea upon finding her at his bedside in the middle of the night. But she was desperate. And desperate times called for desperate ways, or measures, or whatever it was they said.

  She took another step and knelt beside his cot. His breathing was deep and rough like the man himself, and she wished she could see his face in the shadows. Now, how to wake the sleeping beast? A gentle touch, perhaps. That always worked with her father. She lifted her hand to lay it on his arm.

  When his fingers gripped her wrist like iron shackles.

  Before she could react, he leapt, flung her onto the cot, flipped her over, and pinned her arms down with his own. Magnolia would have screamed, but she didn’t want to alert anyone. Instead, she struggled against his tight grip. “Get off of me this instant!”

  He released her, disappearing into the shadows. A match struck and the flame sped through the air to light a candle, illuminating the petulant fiend.


  “Magnolia?” Hayden blinked, trying to clear the sleepy haze from his eyes. “Zooks, Princess, what are you doing sneaking around my hut in the middle of the night?” He’d heard her—and smelled the alcohol on her breath—the moment she’d entered. He hadn’t survived on the street for eight years without learning to sleep with one eye open. Of course, he hadn’t known it was Magnolia. Or a lady, for that matter. Not until he’d tossed her, as light as a feather, onto the cot and felt her soft skin beneath his fingers—heard her quiet sob. Now as she sat up and rubbed her arms where he’d clutched them, guilt assailed him for hurting her.

  “I came to speak to you. Why else would I be here?” She fixed him with a pointed gaze that dropped to his bare chest then quickly looked away.

  He grinned. “In the middle of the night?” She looked delicious with her flaxen hair tumbling over her shoulders, cheeks flushed pink, and eyes sparking in anger. He licked his lips, wishing she had come here for a tryst, rather than for whatever reason put that scowl on her face.

  “I heard you were leaving in the morning.”

  “Ah.” He pressed a hand over his heart. “And overcome with sorrow, you came to tell me how much you’re going to miss me.”

  “Don’t be absurd!” Pressing down her billowing skirts, she struggled to rise, but instead plopped back hopelessly onto the cot with a growl. Hayden should help her, but he was rather enjoying watching her expression contort into cute little folds with the effort. Finally, she managed to stand. Stuffing strands of hair into their pins, she straightened her posture along with her skirts as if she hadn’t just crawled off a man’s bed. “Now, look what you’ve done to my hair.”

  “I’ve done?” Hayden snorted. “You’re lucky that’s all I did.” Grabbing a shirt from the back of a chair, he tossed it over his head. “Do you always sneak up, besotted, on men in their beds? Not wise if you wish to keep your virtue, Princess.”

  “My name is Mag—” Her eyes speared him. “I am not besotted, and my virtue is none of your affair.”

  “And it won’t be as long as you behave like a dissolute minx.”