Elusive Hope

by Marylu Tyndall

  She certainly was. Even covered in dirt and bug bites, she presented quite an alluring sight. One which he allowed his gaze to rove over at the moment. If only to taunt her.

  “You are no better than that toad.” She squinted and tilted her head toward the bush where the creature had disappeared.

  “A toad who will take you back to New Hope tomorrow,” he said. Perhaps Hayden should do just that. He hadn’t been with a woman in over a year and this one was far too distracting. Far too distracting and far too infuriating.

  “No, wait, please.” Her voice pleaded. “I do have some money with me. I need some of it to purchase passage home, but you’re certainly welcome to the rest. If that’s not enough, I promise to send you more when I arrive at my aunt and uncle’s.”

  “I thought the money would only be delivered upon your marriage.”

  “I have no doubt I’ll be married soon enough. My fiancé waits for me even now.”

  A slight intonation, a slight hesitation in her voice, gave Hayden pause. She was lying about something. But was it the money, her fortune, or the fiancé? “So, where is this money of yours?”

  Turning aside, she stretched out her legs until slender toes peeked out from beneath her skirts. Slender, blistered, bloody toes, laced in frayed stockings.

  Hayden swallowed. Loathing the guilt that swamped him, he rose, tore off several leaves from a nearby plant and knelt before her. “May I?”

  She hesitated, her eyes shifting between his. Finally she nodded and inched her skirts up to her ankles. Blisters and raw skin peered at him through what was left of her mangled stockings, and he cursed under his breath. Picking at the hose, he removed the silken scraps, grabbed his canteen, and poured water over her feet. She jerked but didn’t cry out.

  “All this from walking?”

  “I suppose I’m not accustomed to being on my feet all day.”

  Hayden glanced at her ankle boots. Not really ankle boots but tall, fancy red-leather boots scrolled in velvet designs with silk ribbons and heels at least two inches high. “Not exactly the best choice of footwear for a long trek.”

  “I had nothing else.”

  He didn’t doubt that. “Why didn’t you tell me about your feet?” He poured more water on the wounds.

  “I did.” She pulled them back. “Wait, I brought some of Eliza’s salve.”Opening her valise,she waded through its disheveled belongings.

  Hayden took the jar from her hand. Their fingers touched. Their gazes met. She was distracting him with those beguiling eyes. Eyes that shifted between his—unsure, fearful, needy. They did funny things to his stomach. And to his breath, which seemed to have vacated his lungs. He looked away, opened the jar, and began applying the ointment. He’d never seen such delicate feet. Nor such blisters. He concentrated on them, not on the creamy skin that wasn’t marred, nor on the sweet puffs of her breath wafting over him as she tried not to cry out at his touch.

  The jungle sang a chorus around them as a breeze spun a cluster of dried leaves across the clearing. The tattered lace at her hem stirred. There. There was her sweet scent beneath the sweat and mud, a scent unique to her, a scent that caused his pulse to rise. Especially now when she was so close. And so quiet…and vulnerable.

  “Thank you, Hayden.” For once her voice held no sarcasm or spite.

  It weakened his resolve. And he couldn’t have that. “And just how do you plan to walk tomorrow?” He kept his tone sharp.

  “So, you will take me?”

  Against his better judgment, yes. “First, show me this money you speak of.” He finished applying the ointment and sat back, wondering at the sensation in his fingers where he’d touched her. The lady was comely, to be sure. More comely than most. Yet he’d never suffered a shortage of attention from alluring women. Why did this one affect him so?

  Reaching once more into her valise, she sifted through the contents and pulled out a velvet drawstring bag. “Gold coins. At least three hundred dollars worth.”

  He shielded his excitement. Three hundred dollars would buy him a wagon full of supplies and a good tracker. Picking up the leaves he’d gathered, he pressed them onto her feet.

  “All I need”—her voice came out shredded like her stockings as he continued wrapping her wounds—“all I need is enough to buy passage back home and then purchase conveyance to my aunt and uncle’s and the rest is yours.”

  Searching the vines hanging from trees for the right size twine, he sliced a piece with his knife and tied the leaves in place around her feet. She thanked him again. He avoided her gaze. Avoided seeing the appreciation in her eyes that he heard in her voice. Avoided anything that would soften him toward her, make him weak. He took the bag, opened it, and held it to the firelight. Gold coins winked back at him. Gold that made his head spin with delight and his brows arch in surprise at her honesty. He bobbed it in his hands, measuring the weight.

  She slapped a bug on her arm and glanced around the camp as if she weren’t the least bit interested.

  Tying the pouch, he handed it back to her as a wonderful idea formed in his mind. “You have a deal, Princess.”

  “So you’ll escort me to Rio and see me safely on a ship back to America?” She eased her skirts down over her feet.

  Hayden strangled a chuckle. Who was she fooling? She wouldn’t make it alone on a ship to the States. Not surrounded by sailors who’d been out to sea for months. Not unless he could find a ship of monks! She would be a Magnolia blossom ripe for the picking. And he could never allow that to happen. He was a swindler, not a monster. “Yes, of course.”

  “A good ship with a good captain who will ensure my safety?”

  He nodded. But he had other plans for the enchanting Southern belle. Plans that would aid him greatly in discovering the whereabouts of his father. For Hayden relied solely on the information provided by Brazil’s immigration officer, Mr. Eduardo Santos. And the man was not forthcoming with information unless his palms were greased with gold. Gold Hayden needed for supplies and a tracker. Yet if there was one thing Hayden had noticed about the man—besides the fact that he was as crooked as a bent twig—it was that he had an eye for the ladies. And a woman of Magnolia’s beauty and charm would have no trouble extracting the information Hayden needed. All she had to do was flutter her lashes, give him a coy smile, flatter him in that dainty, Southern, I’m-a-helpless-woman-in-need-of-a-real-man-accent, and Mr. Santos would tell her the location of Midas’s treasure if he knew it. How did Hayden know? Because if he were not a stronger man, if he were not privy to feminine devices and the tricks of skullduggery, he would, no doubt, himself, be bewitched by the siren.

  Besides, he wasn’t being completely dishonest with her. If Mr. Santos informed Hayden that his father had left for the States, he would accompany Magnolia home. However, if not, he would return her to New Hope to her parents where she belonged. Maybe they would even offer him a reward. And, of course, he would keep the money she paid him to escort her. All in all, it promised to be a lucrative venture.

  For him, that was.

  He gestured toward her feet.“I won’t carry you through the jungle.”

  Her satisfied smirk faded into anger. “I’ll be quite all right in the morning. Besides, I can wear extra stockings.” She glanced around. “Now, where can I freshen up before supper?”

  Hayden rubbed the back of his neck. “Supper?” He chuckled. “I do apologize, Princess, but food was not part of our bargain.”

  “But…” Her brows crumpled. “What will I eat?”

  “The jungle is teeming with edibles.”

  She scanned the dark, oscillating greenery as if expecting a platter of roast beef to emerge through the leaves. Hayden couldn’t take his eyes off her. With her skin flushed and moist, her flaxen curls tumbling over her shoulders, her chest rising and falling beneath her bedraggled bodice, she’d never looked more beautiful.

  She must have noticed the direction of his gaze for her breath heightened. “Food may not be part of
our deal, sir, but my purity is. If you dare touch me, you will not see a single coin of my money.”

  He chuckled at the ridiculousness of her brazen demand, for they both knew he could take both whenever he pleased.

  CHAPTER 9

  The trail widened, giving Colonel Blake a chance to catch up to James on their way to the temple. “How are you faring today, Doc?”

  “Well enough.” James flicked a glance at him, hoping his friend would take the hint that he didn’t feel like talking. In fact, he’d hardly spoken to anyone since his strange episode at the beginning of his sermon yesterday. Until he figured out what happened, he planned on keeping it to himself. He’d even skipped lunch and supper in order to avoid conversation with the colonists. Which didn’t make him a very good spiritual mentor, but if he was going crazy, he wouldn’t be much use in that area anyway.

  Batting aside a huge fern, he trudged forward as the group followed Thiago to some strange temple the man kept going on about.

  “What happened yesterday?” the colonel asked.

  James ran a sleeve over his forehead. “Isn’t it obvious? I made a fool of myself.” Worse than a fool. He’d shouted and trembled like a leaf in the wind before he made his apologies and dashed from the dais.

  “Not in my eyes, you didn’t. Obviously, something upset you enough that you couldn’t continue your sermon.” Blake shrugged, rubbed the old war wound on his leg, and continued limping beside James. “You are human, not some supernatural creature, unscathed by life.”

  James ground his teeth. Wasn’t it shameful enough his fear of blood prevented him from using his doctoring skills? Would God now send another unfounded fear to keep him from his spiritual duties as well? “As the town preacher, I should at least appear to have my emotions under control.” But once again he’d let everyone down, including Miss Angeline, who had finally made an appearance at Sunday services. Most likely her last.

  He gripped the musket so tightly his fingers ached as countless colorful birds flitted overhead, mocking his sullen mood. Stepping over a craggy root, he hoped Blake would continue on in silence as they made their way to this mysterious temple. Though Eliza, Miss Angeline, and some of the women had wanted to come along, the colonel forbade them. James agreed. No sense in putting the ladies in unnecessary danger. Hopefully, there would be no danger at all. Perhaps they would even find something useful for the colony.

  Mr. Graves certainly seemed intrigued, for ever since he’d found the place, the man had spent all his waking hours in the ancient structure, or so Thiago had said. Yet for all Thiago’s chattering about the place, once Blake decided to go, the Brazilian guide had warned them to stay away. And when Blake refused to listen, Thiago pleaded to remain at camp.

  “You saw something. When you were starting your sermon.” Blake’s statement drew James out of his musing and back to a topic he didn’t wish to discuss. He glanced over his shoulder at Dodd and a few other men following behind, and then forward to Thiago leading the way. “How did you know?”

  Blake heaved a sigh. “What was it?”

  “A boy I operated on at the battlefield. A young corporal.” James swallowed. He squashed a bug on his arm and wished he could squash the memory as easily. “He died under my knife.” His hand trembled, and he switched the musket to his other one.

  “I saw my brother.” Blake said the words so matter-of-factly, James thought he hadn’t heard correctly. Blake’s younger brother had died a vicious death at the battle of Antietam—a battle James had witnessed.

  “When?”

  “When we first arrived. I went into the jungle to sort things out about Eliza.” He brushed aside a fern. “And there he stood, plain as these trees around us, in his private’s uniform, staring at me.”

  James’s mind spun, trying to make sense of the story.

  “Then he took off,” Blake said. “Darted into the jungle.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I ran after him. Found him lying on the ground in a clearing, blood gurgling from his chest.” The colonel’s voice cracked.

  James halted and stared at his friend. The others wove around them, casting curious glances their way.

  “We’ll catch up,” Blake said before he faced James and whispered, “And Eliza saw her dead husband.”

  Heart tightening in his chest, James gazed up at the knotted canopy. “What is going on?”

  “You’re the preacher. I figured I’d ask you.”

  James wouldn’t tell him he was no better preacher than he was a doctor. “You think this is something spiritual?”

  “What else could it be?”

  Planting the barrel of his musket in the dirt, James leaned on the butt. “When we stood on the beach right before we entered the jungle, you said you felt something strange. I’ve felt the same thing since we arrived. A heaviness. Something oppressive…dark.”

  “Indeed.” The lines on Blake’s forehead deepened as he squeezed the bridge of his nose. “And Eliza has sensed the same.”

  A lizard scrambled up a tree trunk. Sunlight shimmered a rainbow of colors on its slick skin as it stared at James with one eye. “Perhaps this ancient temple will give us some answers.”

  But all the temple did was cause James’s stomach to convulse. While Thiago stood guard at the entrance, refusing to enter, and Dodd, with a glimmer in his eyes, went in search of gold, sounds from within the building drew Blake, James, and the rest up the stairs and through the front porch.

  James covered his nose against an unidentifiable stench as they passed broken tables, chairs, pottery, and a steaming pool of water on their way to the back of the large open room. A glimmer drew his gaze to a golden crescent moon and stars embedded in the back wall above a stone altar. To their left, the sounds of digging and a man’s grunt lured them through an opening into a tunnel that led downward to the distant flicker of a torch. Bracing against stone walls on either side, James groped his way over the uneven ground. By the grunts and moans coming from in front and behind, the others seemed to be having the same trouble keeping firm footing.

  Finally they reached stairs that descended with ease to a place where the tunnel widened. Two lit torches hung on the wall. A pile of rocks and dirt sat off to the side.

  Graves emerged from a hole to their left, a shovel full of pebbles in his hand. At least James thought it was Graves. His normally stylish shirt was torn. Sweat-caked mud splattered over his arms and face. Dust speckled his waistcoat and grayed his black hair, making him look older than his nearly thirty years. James had never seen the posh politician so out of sorts. Nor had he ever seen him smile.

  “Ah, you’ve come to see for yourselves.” Torchlight glimmered over rows of white teeth that stood out against his filthy face.

  “See what? What are you doing down here?” James asked, wiping sweat from his neck. “It’s hot as Hades.”

  “Digging.” Tossing the pebbles onto a pile, Graves set down his shovel—the one that had been missing from camp for days.

  “For what?” Mr. Lewis finally caught up to them, the smell of alcohol following the old carpenter in his wake. “Gold?”

  Graves snorted and ran a finger over his once cultured mustache that now hung in muddy strands. “Nothing so meager. I assure you.” He leaned toward them, his tone spiked with glee. “Can you feel it? Can you hear it?”

  All James felt were a thousand invisible spiders crawling on his skin.

  “I don’t hear anything,” the colonel said.

  Graves gave an exaggerated sigh before his brows lifted and he held up a finger. “Shh.”

  Nothing but the drip of water and the moan of wind sounded through the dank tunnel.

  “There! Did you hear them?” Graves said.

  James shook his head. Colonel Blake crossed his arms over his chest. They shared a look of agreement that the man had gone mad.

  “You still can’t hear them?” Disgust weighted his voice as Graves’s thick eyebrows dipped together. “Of course not.”
He waved a grimy, bruised hand through the air. “Go back to your farming, gentleman. I will find them. I will dig them out. And then you will see.”

  “What are you talking about? Find who?”

  “The glorious ones. They are trapped.” Graves started back toward the opening.

  “There’s nothing here but ruins, Graves.” Blake reached for the man. “Come back to New Hope. Help us build something new, not dig up something old.”

  Graves swung around and stared at the colonel as if he’d asked him to strip naked and dance a jig. “I want nothing to do with your New Hope. Now, leave me be.”

  James almost felt sorry for him. But hadn’t they all thought his behavior on the journey to Brazil a bit strange? On board the ship, the politician had always kept to himself, more like an observer than a part of their group. He’d even seemed happy when misfortune after misfortune had befallen them. Now James worried how long he could stay at this ghastly temple without food and water. The colonel seemed to be of the same mind when they emerged onto the front courtyard, unable to convince Graves to return. “What are we to do with him? He’s obviously lost his mind.”

  “It’s so quiet.” Removing his hat, the old carpenter wiped sweat from his brow and glanced up. Tufts of cotton-like clouds drifted across a cerulean sky they normally didn’t see much of through the canopy. But it was quiet. Unusually quiet.

  Eerily quiet.

  James lowered his gaze to the haunting images on a nearby obelisk. Despite the sweat moistening his skin, a shiver coursed through him.

  Mr. Dodd charged through the broken gate. “I found something you should see, Colonel.”

  Wondering what, besides gold, could have put the ex-lawman into such a dither, James and the rest of the men followed him back through the front entrance and then around the broken wall until they stopped behind the enclosed structure. A vast, open field stretched out from the temple. Huge black circles of what once must have been charred grass or shrubbery were scattered haphazardly across the brown—no, gray, deathly gray—terrain. Whatever had seared the ovals into the ground must have happened long ago, yet nothing grew at all in the wide space. No moss; no seedlings; no grass, trees, or bushes. Not a single speck of green. Heat waves spiraled from a ground that appeared as dry as bones—as dry as a grave.