Elusive Hope

by Marylu Tyndall

  She sniffed and shook her head, but said nothing. Hayden found he quite enjoyed the pussy cat over the tigress. Besides, he could not deny his relief at finding her. At first, as he folded in agony from her kick, unable to move or even breathe, his anger told him to just let her go, just let her be. After all, he had what little money she possessed. If the shrew wanted to be on her own, what was that to him? But he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t even think clearly while she was wandering the streets alone. And in far more danger than her innocence realized.

  Taking her valise, he ushered her to the door. No sooner did they step out into the blaring sun than the tigress reappeared. Tearing from his embrace, she shoved him aside, nearly knocking him down the steps. “You deceived me!”

  He turned his body, shielding himself from another kick, and clutched her arm lest she try to run again. “You deceived me, Princess.” He still couldn’t believe that she’d swindled him so effectively, that she’d charmed her way into his heart with lies and promises. The notorious confidence man, Hayden Gale! It was not only unheard of, it was infuriating, and even worse, it was humiliating beyond all measure.

  Halting at the bottom of the stairs, she snapped from his grip and faced him. “So, we lied to each other. Used each other. We are even.” Squinting against the bright sunlight, she scanned the street. “How on earth did you find me?”

  “The boy.” Hayden gestured toward the bench, but it was empty now. He scratched his chin. “There was a boy. He called to me while I sped past. Told me an American lady was in the church.”

  Magnolia frowned and marched onto the muddy street, nearly bumping into a man who was being carried in a chair by four dark mulattoes. Thunder bellowed in the distance. She slowed and faced Hayden, her anger gone, her eyes soft wisps of sapphire. “Why don’t we go home, Hayden? Back to the States. Just you and me.” Her voice was honey. “I’m sure we have enough for two tickets. Let’s leave this horrid place, return to the familiar comforts of home. Please?” Was it his imagination or did her bottom lip suddenly plump like the inviting cushion of a divan? One he normally would long to lounge upon. If he weren’t so furious. Lashes lowering to her cheeks, she played with the lapel of his coat.

  For a moment, he felt his anger receding beneath her feminine charms. Oh, but she was good. She was very good. He could see why most men melted at her feet. He’d never met a woman—or a man, for that matter—who possessed the same innate skill as he did to charm a piece of meat from a starving man. Together they could have amassed a fortune back home.

  But he wouldn’t fall for her schemes again. He shifted his gaze away.

  She placed a hand on his arm. “If you escort me safely to my aunt and uncle’s estate, I’ll give you my entire dowry.”

  Hayden snorted. “Why do I find it hard to believe that such a dowry even exists?”

  “Of course it does. Please, Hayden. This Mr. Godard is no doubt long gone by now. I know you say he stole everything from you, but you are here and alive and we both have a chance at getting out of this savage country. I can tell you don’t wish to stay in New Hope, so why delay—”

  But Hayden wasn’t listening anymore. Just the mention of his father’s alias sent renewed zeal through him. And as tempting as it was to run away with this beautiful, unpredictable, spitfire, he had a promise to keep to his mother. “I can’t.”

  “Of course you can.”

  “No.” Taking her arm, he started walking.

  “Then leave me here. I can’t bear to go back to New Hope.” Her voice degraded to a sob.

  “It isn’t safe.”

  “What is that to you?”

  Hayden wouldn’t tell her that, much to his chagrin, and even after her deception, he cared very much what happened to her. “Perhaps your parents will offer me a reward for bringing you back.”

  He could hear the pain in her long, ragged sigh. Felt the ache in his own heart. She yanked her valise from his grip. “I assure you, sir, they will not. You are wasting your time.”

  Seconds passed in silence as she trudged beside him before blowing out a huff of surrender. “Well, if you insist on dragging me through the jungle again, can we at least stop and purchase some rum?”

  Setting down his shovel, Wiley Dodd wiped sweat from his brow, plucked a map from his pocket, and spread the crinkled paper over the stump of a felled tree. A spindly insect dove at him. He swatted it away as sweat stung his eyes, blurring the lines on the map. He rubbed them and tried to focus despite the heat that spiraled down from the sun, making everything look like a mirage. But the hard, rocky ground was no mirage. His aching muscles attested to that. He’d been digging for days in the exact spot indicated on the map, but all he’d gotten for his trouble was a ten-foot-deep hole, a mound of dirt and pebbles, raw blisters on his hands, and a mood so foul it scared even the monkeys away.

  He ran a finger over the points on the treasure map. He’d found the purple boulder shaped like a turtle fifty paces from the spot where the river split. He’d followed the edge of the shallow ravine in a semicircle to find the old cassia tree with the carved hole in the center. Inside, he’d gathered the twelve stones, along with several surly spiders, which he’d shaken off before they bit him. Upon each stone two numbers were etched. According to the map, the first, a number between one and four, indicated the direction—north, south, east, or west—and the other was the number of paces in that direction. Just finding the stones where the map said they would be, had caused him to yelp and leap like a man whose britches were on fire. It was proof that he wasn’t mad after all. How he’d love to tell the other colonists, to show to them he’d been right, that there must be gold here in the Brazilian jungle, but they’d probably want in on the treasure.

  And he couldn’t have that. He’d worked too hard for too many years. First as a boy in a sailmaker’s shop, sweeping the floors of scrap canvas and cordage, and stirring the kettle of tallow—doing whatever he could to support his mother and two sisters. Then as a sheriff, first in Norfolk and then in Richmond, sweeping the streets of equally useless scraps of humanity. Hard, dangerous work for so little pay. Now, it was fortune’s turn to smile upon him—for once.

  A drop of sweat landed on the map, and he brushed it away. He’d followed the directions on the stones to the waterfall. Or at least he hoped it was the same waterfall drawn on the map. Ten paces off, he’d found the group of larger rocks piled in the shape of a pyramid. And beyond them, a circle of mango trees, in the center of which stood the treasure. At least that was how it appeared on the map—a chest filled with gold. In reality, there was nothing but leaf-strewn, hard-packed dirt. And so he had dug. And dug. And dug and dug.

  Scratching the back of his neck, he stretched his shoulders. Where had he gone wrong? He carefully folded the map and stuffed it into his pocket. After gulping down water from his canteen, he grabbed the shovel, leapt into the hole, and started digging again. His sweat soon returned, along with the mind-numbing thrum of insects and birds above. But when his shovel struck something hard, he no longer cared. The sweet chink of metal on metal brought a huge smile to his cracked lips.

  Magnolia couldn’t believe she was in the middle of the jungle again. After she had endured so much discomfort in order to get to Rio. After she could see the ships in the bay preparing to sail for home…

  If not for the lying, thieving barbarian sitting across the crackling fire from her, she would have made it home, too. Somehow or another. She would have found a way. But instead, he had made her his prisoner—forced her to walk in front of him, never taking his eyes off her, so she “wouldn’t get any fool notions about running back to Rio,” he had said.

  Many such notions had crossed her mind during the long day, but they now faded with the last vestiges of sunlight angling through the trees. She was too far enmeshed in the steamy web to ever find her way back. The brute obviously knew that too, for he sat on a log whittling a piece of wood, completely ignoring her. Beside him sat a knapsack filled with suppl
ies he’d purchased with her money. Her money!

  Leaning over, she unlaced the new shoes they’d also bought in Rio, a pair of black kids with shiny buckles. Plain, yet practical. Of course, after a day of traipsing through the jungle, they were already ruined. She rubbed her toes through her stockings, feeling the hardened skin of old blisters and hoping her feet wouldn’t grow large and callused like some women’s. She’d always prided herself on her petite, flawless feet.

  “What are we going to eat?” she asked.

  Without looking up, Hayden gestured to a pile of fruit he’d gathered earlier.

  “But what about the dried pork you purchased in Rio?”

  “That’s for my search after we return.”

  “But it was my money. I should have some of it.”

  Finally he looked up, eyes darkening like the growing shadows of the jungle. “It was my payment.”

  “But the bargain was not completed. You did not see me safely on a ship to America.”

  He went back to whittling. Dark hair the color of almonds grazed his shoulders, stirred by a welcome breeze that whistled through the leaves. He shifted his boots over the dirt,clearly avoiding the discussion.

  Magnolia felt like growling, but that wouldn’t be very ladylike. Did the man have any idea what eating only fruit did to her delicate digestion? She dropped her chin into her palm, putting on her most adorable pout. Though why she bothered, she had no idea. It never worked on him.

  He ignored her.

  How rude! Especially when she had far more reason to be angry at him than he did her. What did it matter if he didn’t have as much money as he’d hoped? He could still search for this Godard fellow. While she, on the other hand, had to face the wrath of her father for her betrayal, a lifetime of his criticisms, and a hopeless future in the primordial sludge of Brazil. Not to mention, her father would probably marry her off to some dowdy, feeble-minded Brazilian. A sour taste rose in her throat and she released a wilted sigh—a sigh that begged for Hayden’s help.

  Still, he ignored her.

  And to think that only last night she’d thought she might be developing affections for him. There. She admitted it. Yes, she had felt something. Most likely just cheap wine. But he’d been so gallant at the ball. Such a gentleman. So handsome and charming and entertaining and clever. She’d had fun. For the first time in her recollection, she’d truly enjoyed herself at a party.

  Now, that same man had transformed back into a toad—all angry and somber—dressed once again in his stained white shirt and black trousers tucked within muddy boots. And search as she might, she could find no resemblance between him and the man she’d been with last night. Perhaps it had all been an act. Hayden was just like all the other men in her life. He had used her for her beauty then used her for her money. and now, he was using her for a possible reward from her father. Pain lanced her heart, the blade turning and twisting until tears filled her eyes. Maybe that was all she was good for. Beauty and money.

  She ripped a banana from a bunch and started to peel it as a chorus of katydids began their nightly orchestra. Fireflies flickered in the darkness, matched by stars beginning to twinkle through the canopy. She shoved away her sorrow. It did her no good. Besides, she was lonely And frightened and talking helped soothe her nerves. Even if the only person she could converse with was the man who had put her in this predicament.

  “Who is this Godard anyway?”

  He blew out a sigh. Was it her imagination or did his knife cut a little deeper into the wood? “I told you. Just someone I need to find.” Setting down his carving, he tossed another log onto the fire, the flames reflecting red in his hard eyes. Magnolia swallowed at the fury she saw within them. Surely, that wasn’t all directed at her.

  “I have a right to know who he is,” she said, “since it is on his account you are dragging me back to a father who will punish me to the end of my days for running away.” Something flapped across the clearing, disappearing into the leaves. Magnolia hoped it wasn’t a bat. She hated bats.

  The tight lines on Hayden’s face seemed to soften. He picked up his whittling again. “I am truly sorry about your father.”

  His tone carried remorse, but she wasn’t buying it. “If you are truly sorry, you’d take me back to Rio and put me on a ship.” She bit into her banana, the sweet taste flooding her mouth.

  “Trust me. I’m doing what’s best for you.” His shirt sleeves were rolled up, drawing her gaze to the muscles flexing in his thick arms with each dig of the knife into wood.

  “You are a toad, Hayden Gale.”

  He smiled.

  Did the man truly care what happened to her on the ship? Or did he simply not wish to part with any of his—her—money? The thought that he might actually care brought a measure of comfort to her otherwise aggravated heart. Magnolia focused on a trail of ants edging the clearing. A monkey howled in the distance. “So this Mr. Godard, did he steal your lady, kill your dog? Ah, I know”—she nodded, studying him—“He lied to you. Deceived you like I did. But for something besides money. Hmm…”—she tapped her chin—“That would explain why you are so furious with me. You hate being tricked, outwitted. That’s it. He made you out to be a fool, didn’t he?” Like Martin had done to her. If so, she could well understand Hayden’s need for revenge. She could even understand why he’d traveled all the way from Charleston to Brazil in search of the man, for she would do the same thing if she knew where Martin was. If she ever saw that fiend again, he would regret the day he laid eyes on her.

  “Let it alone, Princess.” Hayden’s jaw tightened even further as his tone brooked no further discussion.

  Tossing the empty banana peel, Magnolia plucked an orange from the pile, tore off the skin, and plopped a piece into her mouth. Sweet juice dribbled down her chin. Thankfully Hayden didn’t see it before she wiped it away. Not that she cared what he thought of her. He was the worst sort of cad. The opposite of Samuel. Perhaps Samuel couldn’t start a fire or build a shelter or catch fish. Maybe he couldn’t find his way through the jungles of Brazil, but he knew how to treat a lady. He was cultured and well mannered and could converse on any number of topics—though most of them bored Magnolia. But that didn’t matter. He was courteous and kind and chivalrous, a true gentleman. And he would never lie to Magnolia. Or use her. Nor would he be churlish when she depended on him for survival.

  “If you are intent on ignoring me, might I at least have some rum?” She’d seen Hayden purchase a flask in Rio, and the liquor would do much to relieve her tension.

  He studied her, assessing her like a schoolmaster assessing a child. Finally he reached into his knapsack and handed her the flask. “Just a few sips.”

  “Am I to be rationed as well?”

  “Until you learn to control your drinking, yes. I’ll not have a besotted nymph running around the jungle.”

  “Nym…I do not overdrink!”

  He snorted out a chuckle.

  She frowned. “Then, why did you purchase it?”

  “To control your shakes,” he said. “And yes, I noticed.”

  Heat stormed up her neck as she uncorked the flask and tipped it to her mouth. Spice and fire slid down her throat and warmed her belly. Now, if it would only make the toad disappear. She took another sip.

  “Easy now, Princess. Ladies don’t gulp.”

  “How dare you!” Magnolia seethed. She attempted to rise but her insufferable crinoline pushed her back down. Carefully setting down the rum, she dropped to her knees, planted both hands in the dirt, and shoved herself up with a groan that she was sure would also be dubbed indelicate. “I am not a lush.” She plucked the flask from the ground.

  “When are you going to get rid of that cage you wear under your skirts?” He pointed his knife at her gown.

  “Of all the…I…” She inhaled a breath. “What is under my skirts is none of your affair!” Mercy me, what had she just said? A tidal wave doused her in heat. She pressed a hand to her cheeks, certain that they
were as red as pomegranates.

  He grinned and continued whittling.

  She sipped the rum, praying it would loosen the tight noose around her nerves. “What do you know about ladylike behavior, anyway? I imagine the only ladies you associate with are those who make taverns their home.”

  He chuckled. “In which case, I should not consider your behavior out of the ordinary with all the spirits you consume and the way you kiss a man without provocation.”

  “Without prov…kiss!”Rage strangled her. Followed by humiliation as the truth of his words struck home. Was she nothing but a common hussy? Had it been her lack of moral character that had caused her to fall for Martin’s lies? Was that the reason her father constantly reprimanded her about her appearance? To hide her wench’s heart? The old woman’s words blared like a trumpet in her mind. Here and henceforth your reflection will reveal the true beauty of your heart, the way you appear to those who inhabit eternity.

  Dropping to her knees, she set down the flask, opened her valise, and yanked out her gilded mirror. Eyes blurry with tears, she slowly raised it to view her reflection. Gray hair, frizzled and scorched, circled a face furrowed with lines and marred with dark spots. Her thin, leaden lips were drawn and cracked. Dark wells tugged at the skin beneath her eyes as hooded lids slanted over her once luminous eyes.

  Magnolia screamed.

  CHAPTER 20

  Magnolia’s scream sent Hayden leaping over the fire, knife drawn, ready to defend her against some reptilian, multilegged invader. But when he landed beside her, no such creature was to be found either on the mirror she continued to hold up to her face, or on her arm, her skirts, or anywhere around her. Her screaming reduced to sobs as she continued to stare at her reflection, gingerly touching her cheeks.

  “What is it?” He nudged her hand and the mirror away, grabbed her shoulders, and forced her to look at him. Tears streamed from blue eyes as liquid as the sea. “She was right. She was right. The old lady was right,” she kept repeating.