Elusive Hope

by Marylu Tyndall

  “Who was right? About what?”

  “How can you look at me?” Jerking from his grasp, she turned her back to him. “I’m grotesque.”

  Hayden could make no sense of her ramblings. It couldn’t be the rum. She’d only had a few sips. “You’re anything but grotesque, Magnolia. You know that.” He touched her shoulder but she moved out of reach. “Why all the theatrics?”

  “You used my common name.” She sniffed. “Not Princess.” Her shoulders rose and fell upon a sob that seemed to calm her until she glanced in the mirror and started wailing again.

  “By all that is holy, what is wrong?” Hayden’s patience was fast coming to an end.

  “Can’t you see? Look.” With her back still to him, she held the mirror up and gazed at him through the reflection. Nothing but her beautiful tear-streaked face stared back at him. Her eyes assessed him, the terror within them fading into confusion.

  “Don’t you see me?” she finally asked.

  “Of course I see you. Lovely, alluring you.”

  “I look the same to you in the mirror?”

  He studied her reflection again. “Except for your red, swollen eyes.”

  Leaning over, he picked up the flask, suddenly needing a drink himself. The pungent liquor warmed his throat. And heated his suspicions. “You did all this, behaved like a rattlebrain, just to lure a compliment from me?” He shook his head. “Of all the conceited, egotistical, selfish—”

  “I did no such thing!” Stomping to her valise, she tossed her mirror in and slowly turned to face him, studying him as if gauging his reaction. Finally she planted her fists at her waist. “How could you think something like that? Do you find me so shallow?” Her eyes flashed like lightning, but then the anger faded, and she lowered herself onto a log, skirts puffing about her. Caked mud covered the hem from their long trek through the jungle, her new gown already ruined. But she didn’t seem to care.

  Instead, she stared at the fire as if in a daze, her tears drying on her cheeks. Hayden had no idea what to do. The great confidence man who could see past any facade, who could read people and match his own behavior to theirs in order to achieve his goals, now found himself at a complete loss.

  Yes, he’d been furious at her for tricking him, for being the only one who had ever managed to swindle the infamous swindler. But perhaps that was just his pride. Besides, how could he blame her for doing something he did for a living? They both had good reasons for their deceptions. She to escape her father’s tyranny, and he, of course, to finally end his quest for the man who had killed his mother and ruined his life.

  The croak of a frog joined an owl’s hoot in the distance as a breeze stirred the leaves into a crescendo of laughter. Laughing at him, no doubt. At his weakness for this Southern sprite. Slipping the flask inside his pocket, he squatted and poked the fire, sending sparks into the dark sky. Still, Magnolia didn’t move. Hayden had been outwitted by a conceited debutante. But what bothered him more than her lie was the pain he’d felt when he discovered it—the agonizing pain of betrayal by someone he trusted. Sure, he had his suspicions. In his profession, he’d learned to be leery of most people. But deep down he supposed he had truly believed Magnolia. Otherwise, why would he feel such a palatable ache deep in his heart?

  Something bit his neck and he slapped away the offending varmint. Had any of his victims felt this gut-wrenching pain? Memories of his vision of Katherine pricked his conscience. She’d seemed so upset, so tormented. But that hadn’t been real, had it? In truth, he had no idea what her reaction had been. He’d never stuck around to witness the trail of destruction he’d left behind. By the time his targets discovered they’d been swindled, he was long gone. He’d always imagined their fury, their rage, but he’d never thought about their heartache.

  Not until now.

  Magnolia began mumbling something about being ugly inside and some old woman in a church, but Hayden couldn’t make sense of it. Zooks, was the woman going mad now on top of everything else? He pictured himself hoisting a foaming-at-the-mouth lunatic over his shoulder and attempting to carry her through the jungle. The idea held no appeal. Finally, he suggested she retire, and much to his surprise she nodded and crawled into her shelter.

  Two hours later, her deep breathing assured him she was asleep. Squatting by the opening of the shelter, he stared within, cursing himself for making the frond roof so snug that not a sliver of moonlight gave him a view of her face. What was it about this woman that had him so bewitched? She was spoiled, pompous, self-centered, and whiny. Besides, she hailed from a class of landed gentry that was as far from his own heritage as Queen Victoria was from a chimney sweep. To make matters worse, she had a viper’s tongue in that sweet little mouth of hers. Sweet indeed! He rubbed his lips, remembering her taste. Honey and spice and passion. His body reacted, and he shifted his stance.

  But she was also witty and smart and charming and feminine and passionate, and deep down she cared for others. And much like him, she’d also been given a rough start in life. Maybe she hadn’t grown up a destitute orphan, but she’d grown up equally unloved by a critical, demanding father who valued her only for her beauty and held her captive to a mysterious debt she couldn’t pay. It was no wonder she behaved the way she did.

  Hayden sighed and rubbed his chin, studying the edge of her lacy petticoat peeking from beneath her skirts and the way her stockinged feet curled at her side. When he found his father and completed his mission, he would take Magnolia back to the States with him. He would hand her over to her fiancé, this solicitor Samuel Wimper…Wimperly or whoever he was. Just the sound of his name created an image of a spare, lanky man with greased hair, spectacles perched on his nose, and wearing a fancy frock coat.

  But she obviously loved him or she wouldn’t have gone to such trouble to find her way back to him. Hayden rose and circled the fire, hating the sudden pain that made his heart feel like an anchor. Hating it because he didn’t understand it. Because he’d never felt it before. And because the woman who had caused it was forever outside his reach.

  James emerged onto the sandy bank to find Miss Angeline, her skirts hiked up to her knees, standing in the river, slapping clothes against a rock. On the shore, Stowy, her inseparable cat, pounced on leaves and frogs and anything that dared move. Sunlight set Angeline’s hair aglow in spirals of glittering amber trickling over her elegant neck. James had never seen a more beautiful sight.

  Despite the rushing river and the warble of birds, she must have heard his boot’s tread, for a pistol appeared in her hands so fast, he hadn’t seen her draw it or from whence it had come.

  He raised his hands, taken aback at the familiar way she held the weapon. Not with the hands of a seamstress, but with the hands of one accustomed to handling a gun. “I surrender.”

  Her eyes sparkled, and her shoulders lowered…along with the gun. “Do forgive me, Doctor. I’ve been a bit skittish lately.”

  “No need. I’m glad for it. It isn’t safe for you to be out here alone.” Which was why he had come in the first place. He’d seen the other women leaving with basketfuls of wet laundry, but not Angeline. Though James hadn’t spoken to her since he’d made a fool of himself and run off during his sermon at church, he’d kept his eye on her. Especially after Eliza had told him about Dodd’s propensity for peeping at the women.

  James approached, sweeping a cautious glance over the clearing, then to the bank on the other side of the river. Afternoon sunlight rippled in silver ribbons across water that stretched at least forty yards before thick jungle kept it at bay. No sign of intruders or Peeping Toms. “You should always have at least one other person with you.”

  Stuffing the gun into her belt, she waded to shore, but then glanced down at her raised skirts and lowered them immediately, face reddening. James smiled. How refreshing to find such a modest woman. In fact, all of the women in the colony seemed in possession of the highest morals. And if James had his way, he intended to keep it that way. He’d had hi
s fill of unscrupulous women.

  “To deliver thee from the strange woman, even from the stranger which flattereth with her words…For her house inclineth unto death, and her paths unto the dead. None that go unto her return again, neither take they hold of the paths of life.”

  The words of Proverbs, words he had memorized and recited each day, stood to attention in his mind.

  “I’m nearly done here.” Angeline’s voice snapped him from his musings. “And though I appreciate your concern, Doctor, I can take care of myself.” She scooped up Stowy and stroked his fur, eyeing James with those exquisite violet eyes of hers. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  He shifted his boots in the sand, wondering why the lady always turned his insides to porridge. “I’m checking with all the women to make sure they feel safe in the colony and aren’t being bothered by any of the men.” He invented a half-truth, ignoring the twinge of guilt that came with it. He’d fully intended to talk to Angeline after Eliza told him about Dodd, but he hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

  Her brow furrowed. A breeze stirred a pile of leaves, and Stowy leapt from her arms onto the pesky foliage. “Are you applying to be our town’s constable as well, Doctor?” She smiled.

  He suddenly felt rather silly, like an awkward schoolboy with his first infatuation. “No, I believe being preacher keeps me busy enough.” He slanted his lips, wondering how to explain his concern without seeming like a lovesick fool. “The colonel and I want to keep an eye on all the single ladies in New Hope.” Truss it, that didn’t sound right either. “I mean we…well, in the absence of a lawman, we feel responsible for the ladies who live alone.”

  A tiny line formed between her brows. She studied him as if he were an oddity. James swallowed. Splendid. If running from the pulpit at church hadn’t convinced her he was utterly mad, surely his present ramblings were proof enough.

  A fish leapt from the lake, drawing Stowy to the edge. Was it overly hot today? Sweat moistened James’s neck and arms, and he had a sudden desire to jump into the water. Even better, jump in with Angeline. The thought did nothing to cool him off.

  She approached, the hem of her skirts scraping over hot sand. “I assume Eliza told you about Mr. Dodd.” She raised a hand, shielding her face from the sun and darkening her eyes to deep lavender. Soothing, entrancing lavender.

  “He hasn’t done anything except stare at me and make me uncomfortable,” she continued. “Let’s hope his hunt for gold keeps him otherwise occupied.”

  “Indeed.”

  “But I thank you for your concern, Doctor.”

  She was so close he could smell the lye soap from washing clothes and her own sweet scent that reminded him of coconut. He cleared his throat, trying to clear his head as well.

  “I do see that perhaps my concern for your safety has been exaggerated.” He pointed toward the pistol stuffed in her belt. “I’ve never seen a lady draw a weapon so quickly. Where did the daughter of a shipwright learn such a skill?”

  Angeline couldn’t tell James that she’d learned how to load and shoot a pistol the hard way. That she’d had to defend herself against the worst possible monster. After that, it had been a matter of survival. “Oh, here and there.” She offered him a coy smile, hoping he’d let the topic drop. Stowy jumped onto a rock at the edge of the lake and began swatting at fish swimming beneath the water.

  “I also understand you had a disturbing vision,” the doctor said, drawing her gaze back to him.

  Those eyes, such a magnificent shade of bronze, exuded a strength equal to the metal itself. Somehow that made her feel safe in his presence. That and the way thick muscles in his chest flexed beneath his gray shirt. Power and strength that could subdue any villain. Power and strength she could have used three years ago. Power and strength coupled with the concern pouring from his expression that could have saved her a lifetime of misery.

  Her pulse raced. She forced it to slow. James was not who he seemed. She must remember that.

  “The vision, Miss Angeline?” He lowered his gaze to hers and stared at her quizzically.

  “Yes. Forgive me. I did see something. But it was dark and late and I was very tired.”

  “Would it surprise you to know that I, too, saw a vision? That morning a week ago when I ran out on my sermon.”

  So that would explain his odd behavior. At the time she’d thought he’d become ill. “I couldn’t imagine what had gone wrong.”

  “You haven’t been back to church since. I feared I frightened you away.” A burst of wind tossed a strand of his wheat-colored hair into his face. She longed to reach up and ease it aside.

  “I told you I’m not much for religion.” She lowered her gaze and saw the pink scar on her arm. Horrified, she unrolled her sleeves to cover it before James noticed. She didn’t need any more questions she couldn’t answer without lying.

  But he must have seen it for he rubbed his own scar—the one on his cheek that angled down the side of his mouth like an oversized dimple. “Do say you’ll come back to church. I promise not to become a babbling fool again.”

  How could she resist such a boyish smile? “I will make an attempt.” She straightened the cuffs of her sleeves, wanting to know more about this man. Wanting to know why he was so different from the man she’d met a year ago. “May I ask what you saw in your vision?”

  James turned and stepped toward the river. The mad rush of water surrounded them, drowning out the ever present buzz of the jungle. Sorrow darkened his eyes and formed tiny lines at the edges. Finally he answered, “It was a young corporal who died on my operating table during the war.”

  Angeline’s stomach tightened. She had seen someone from her past as well. And so had Eliza. “From the ship before we even arrived, Eliza saw her dead husband standing on shore.”

  James faced her. “And Blake has seen someone too.”

  “Perhaps it is just the strain of moving to a different country, eating unfamiliar food, starting a new colony.” Angeline would not allow for any other possibility. She couldn’t. New Hope was her last chance at a normal life.

  A cloud swallowed up the sun. “Being the preacher, I feel responsible for the emotional wellbeing of the townspeople. And these odd visions reek of something amiss in the spiritual realm.”

  Angeline stifled her laughter. Not at the man himself. No, James was nothing to laugh at. He was all man and strength and wisdom. It was his insistence on being a spiritual leader that gave her pause. She stared into those bronze eyes, so clear now. Yet only a year ago, those same eyes had stared at her, glazed and murky, as she’d led him upstairs to her room.

  Taking a step back from him, she fingered the ring dangling on a chain around her neck—her father’s ring. The only man she had ever trusted.

  If James had truly changed and become a godly man, he wouldn’t want to associate with the likes of her.

  And if he hadn’t, Angeline had had enough of lying, hypocritical men to last a lifetime.

  CHAPTER 21

  A rather obtuse insect of epic proportions and sporting a pair of orange wings had decided he loved Magnolia more than any creature in the jungle. He’d been following her for hours, buzzing about her face, trying to get her attention, looking for a place to land where he could shower her with his affections which, no doubt, would be in the form of some vile bug ooze. Which, of course, she couldn’t possibly allow. So, she’d been swatting at him all day, and trying to stab him with the tip of her parasol, until her arms ached and her frustration was about to burst.

  Hayden had reverted into being a toad again. For two days he’d barely said the same number of words to her. He’d been polite. He had provided for her. Mercy me, he’d even carried her valise, but whenever she tried to engage him in conversation, he replied with nonsensical grunts and groans. Did all men revert to barbarians when living in the wild?

  She swung her closed parasol at the fawning bug again just as Hayden, marching in front of her, shoved aside a large leaf and rele
ased it. The green monster descended on her as if the sky had changed from blue to jade and was crashing to earth. It slapped her face and swaddled her in suffocating foliage.

  Sputtering, she coughed and thrust it away, her insides seething. “How kind of you.”

  He grunted.

  The only reason she could find for his rude behavior was that he’d seen her horrifying reflection in the mirror and was completely repulsed. Yet he’d claimed she looked the same. Perhaps he was lying, though she couldn’t think of a single reason for that. Fine, if he wanted to be so shallow as to not even talk to her because of her appearance, then she didn’t want to talk to him either. Oh, mercy me, was she truly old and ugly? She hadn’t looked in the mirror since that night. Didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to know. She hoped it was just a bad dream—a delusion her mind had conjured from what that demented, shriveled-up woman had said. Surely that was it. But if so, what was wrong with Hayden? Magnolia knew she wasn’t useful around camp. She couldn’t even light a fire or catch a fish or build a shelter. She was worthless. As usual. And now, without her beauty, what good was she? That had to be the reason for his disdain. He couldn’t still be angry about the money. After all, he’d lied to her as well! If not for him, she’d be on a ship right now enjoying the fresh ocean breezes, not being smothered by air as thick as syrup.

  Wiping perspiration from her neck, she gazed up at the canopy, a lattice of vines and branches and leaves over which skittered hundreds of birds, monkeys, and crawly things that she preferred would stay above. A swarm of white butterflies flitted among the foliage like a band of tiny angels sent to keep watch on God’s creation. She wished that were so, for at least then someone would know how miserable she was.

  Hayden tromped in front of her, his hair tied behind him. The sound of his boots crunching on dry leaves rose in a steady, soothing cadence. His damp shirt clung to muscles that rippled across his shoulder and down his back with each graceful move. Unfortunately, being right behind him, Magnolia could hardly avoid such an alluring sight—alluring and hypnotizing and warming down to her toes. She realized she felt safe with this man—a man who was nothing at all like her Samuel. Samuel, who always dressed in the latest fashion from the heels of his leather Congress shoes to the top of his silk hat. His short-cropped hair was never out of place, his face always stubble-free, his movements so refined they could be considered dandyish.