Elusive Hope

by Marylu Tyndall

  Martin’s eyes bulged. He clawed at her father’s hands, gasping and croaking. Several women in his group screamed and the two men at his side cocked and pointed their pistols at her father’s head.

  “That’s enough, Mr. Scott!” Colonel Blake shoved his way between them and pried them apart. Martin gasped for air. “Settle down! Everyone, lower your guns!” Blake shouted to the colonists.

  But Magnolia didn’t want to settle down. She wanted to gouge Martin’s eyes out for what he’d done to her and her family. She was just about to attempt that very thing when Hayden nudged both her and her father aside, cocked his pistol, and leveled it at Martin’s forehead.

  Martin retreated, real fear skittering across his eyes for the first time.

  “Hayden, no!”

  “What are you doing, Hayden?” Blake grabbed Hayden’s arm but he shrugged him off.

  “Put the gun down.” James came up from behind.

  But Hayden didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, as his eyes remained locked on his target. A drop of sweat slid down his cheek onto a jaw strung as tight as a sail under full wind. Magnolia had never seen him this enraged, this focused. It frightened her.

  “Please, sir, whatever you have against me, let us settle it like gentlemen.” Still Martin’s voice was as slick as oil.

  With an ominous growl, Hayden flipped the weapon, raised it, and slammed it atop Martin’s head. The odious man toppled to the dirt with a groan.

  Shock filtered through the crowd as Blake knelt beside Martin and gazed up at Hayden. “Why did you do that? Who is this man?”

  Hayden stuffed the gun into his belt. “He’s my father.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Shoving aside the bamboo door, Hayden headed into the night. Unfortunately the air was just as heavy and oppressive outside as it was inside his hut. Or maybe it was seeing his father that strangled the breath out of him. After he’d flattened the heinous man, Hayden had stomped into the jungle, trying to gather his thoughts and smother his anger. But after hours of batting aside leaves and slapping insects, his thoughts were even more convoluted and his fury hotter. So he’d had a drink of that pinga Magnolia loved so much and had gone to bed. Yet sleep taunted him with heavy lids that would not shut and a wounded heart that kept him awake.

  Taking in a deep breath of air, thick with musk and earth, Hayden stretched the kinks from his back and gazed down the dark street. Not a single light shone from any hut. Nor were any watchman in sight. This would be the perfect time to visit his so-called father at the clinic, where he was spending the night after Eliza dressed his head wound.

  Yet as Hayden plodded down the street, it was Magnolia who consumed his thoughts. Though he’d been frozen with rage at the sight of the man he’d been so desperate to find for fifteen years, Hayden had heard everything that transpired.

  Magnolia had been engaged to his father!

  He still couldn’t believe it. His stomach lurched even as the thought twisted a cyclone of impossibility in his mind. How could she have fallen for such a scoundrel? A born liar, a charlatan of the worst kind. A shark who preyed on people’s hopes and desires only to gobble them up at the last minute. How could she be that foolish? And more importantly, how could he court a woman who had once been in his father’s arms, perhaps even kissed him and who knew what else? Disgust sent acid into his throat as he passed Blake and Eliza’s hut. The sound of night creatures joined the rush of the river in a cadence that was usually soothing, but tonight the noise only clanked and gonged against Hayden’s shock and fury.

  His father had swindled the Scotts from all their wealth. That was the debt Magnolia spoke of so often. Now things began to make sense. Still, what kind of parents blamed their innocent daughter for being tricked by a master manipulator? And then used her mistake to enslave her with guilt into obeying their every command. He squeezed the back of his neck, his muscles coiled tight.

  He was too confused to deal with his feelings toward Magnolia at the moment. Right now, He had to focus on the only thing that mattered—honoring his promise to his mother.

  Pushing aside the canvas flap, he entered the clinic. It smelled of blood and lye and herbs. he groped for a match and a lantern and brought light to bear on the sleeping form of his father. A pile of cloths sat on the table, tempting Hayden to place them over his father’s mouth and nose and finish the task quickly. But that wouldn’t be a fitting punishment. His father must know who was killing him and why. Hayden wanted to see the fear, the realization in his eyes, and perhaps even a spark of regret.

  “Wake up.” He poked him, noting the bandage wrapped around his head. “Wake up.”

  With a growl,Patrick—for that was his real name—peered through tiny slits. But upon seeing Hayden, he jerked to sit up. Rubbing his forehead, he blinked as if trying to focus. “Come to finish me off?”

  “Something like that.” Hayden crossed arms over his chest.

  Patrick glanced over the room as if looking for a weapon and, upon finding none, released a sigh. “Well get on with it then or get out.” He swung his legs over the bunk.

  If anything, at least the man was no coward.

  “You don’t recognize me?” Hayden heard the fury strangling his own voice.

  “Should I?”

  “Perhaps the name Hayden Gale will spark your memory, Patrick.” He spit the name like the dirt it was.

  Every muscle in the man’s face stiffened. All except his eyes. They shifted over the dirt floor as if wishing a tunnel would open up beneath him. Seconds passed before he let out a ragged breath, attempted a grin, and lifted his gaze to Hayden, allowing it to wander over him. “You grew up well, lad.”

  Hayden huffed. “Is that all you have to say?”

  With a diminutive slant of his lips, Patrick shrugged. “What else is there?”

  A muscle twitched in Hayden’s jaw. “You…left”—he squeezed out the words, barely able to contain his rage—“when I was only two. Mother…”

  Patrick rose, stretched his back nonchalantly, all the while keeping a wary eye on Hayden. “Ah, yes. Elizabeth. Lovely lady. How is she?”

  “Dead.”

  His brow folded, and he plopped into a chair beside the examining table. “How?”

  “Run over by a carriage on her way home from slaving all day as a seamstress.” Veins throbbed in Hayden’s forehead. “Too exhausted to even look where she was going.”

  Genuine sorrow shadowed Patrick’s face. Or was it a ruse? “A shame,” he said.

  “A shame?” Hayden started toward the man, intending to slug him, then stopped. “A shame!” Spit flew from his mouth. “You left her without means to survive. Forced her to toil her life away from dawn till dusk just to feed us.”

  “She was a resourceful woman. I knew she’d make it.”

  “But she didn’t!”

  Patrick flinched. “Listen, lad, I was a different man back then.” He ran a finger across his finely coiffed beard, a shadow rolling across his expression. “I made a mistake marrying her. I loved your mother, I truly did, but a man like me couldn’t possibly be tied down.”

  “You mean a liar, a cheat, and a scoundrel like you.”

  “Perhaps.” He jerked his head to the side and sighed. “In the end, I knew she deserved better.”

  “In the end you thought of no one but yourself.”

  Hayden’s words seemed of no effect on the man as he pressed fingers on the bandage around his head and winced. “She had family. A father and a brother, I believe.”

  “Grandpa died of smallpox, and Frederick took to sea to find his fortune.”

  He seemed to ponder the information for a moment. “How was I to know that?” His indignant tone further infuriated Hayden.

  “You would have known if you had bothered to check on our welfare. Even once. Did you check even once?”

  Patrick shifted his gaze away. Lantern light glinted in green eyes that held a hint of remorse before he straightened his shoulders and faced Hayden again. �
��Well, boy, it appears you turned out just fine.” He slowly rose and slapped Hayden on the back as if they were old friends—the confidence man at his finest. “How odd that our paths crossed all the way here in Brazil.”

  “Not so odd.” Hayden jerked away from him. Was Patrick so dimwitted that he didn’t understand what Hayden intended to do? What he’d sailed across an ocean to do? “I came looking for you.”

  “Me?” Patrick’s brows pinched together, but then a hint of fear slowly claimed his features. “How did you know what I looked like?”

  Reaching into his pocket, Hayden pulled out the tintype, snapped open the leather case, and showed it to the man.

  Patrick took it, eased fingers over the portrait, and smiled. “Your mother had this made of me.”

  “And she gave it to me on her deathbed.”

  He touched the gray at his temples. “I’m older now.”

  “Yet you haven’t changed one bit.”

  “Everyone changes, lad.” He handed it back to him.

  Hayden held up a hand. “Keep it. I don’t need it anymore.”

  With a shrug, Patrick set it on the table.

  “Do you have any idea what I suffered?” Hayden stretched his fingers, itching to strike the man. “I was only ten when she died. I lived on the street, hungry and cold, sleeping in refuse.”

  “You can hardly blame me for my ignorance.” One brow arched over an expression of annoyance.

  “You wouldn’t have helped me even if you had known, would you?”

  Patrick’s silent stare was all the answer Hayden needed. He fisted his hand, intending to strike him, strangle him, whatever it took to wipe that smirk off his face. Patrick cringed, bracing for the attack. Fury pooled in Hayden’s fist, throbbing through each muscle and bone, until it felt like it would explode. But no. Not yet. He lowered it, stretching out his fingers, gathering his control. Hayden must first find out about Magnolia. Taking a deep breath, he stared out the window.

  “No doubt those hard times made you the strong man you are today.” Patrick’s tone had lost its edge, bordering on conciliatory. Good. He was starting to understand the danger he faced. “Perhaps I did you a favor,” he continued. “I wouldn’t have been much of a father anyway.”

  “Why are you here in Brazil, Patrick?”

  “For gold, lad!” His eyes glittered greed. “I have a map given me by a reliable gentleman who told me there’s a fortune buried near here. Why else would I subject myself to this bestial jungle?”

  Wealth, of course. Hayden should have known. “You’ll have to fight Dodd for it first.”

  “Dodd, who’s Dodd?”

  “Never mind.” Hayden shook his head. “So you dragged these poor settlers here on the guise of starting a colony when in truth you plan on finding the gold and abandoning them?”

  “I needed funding for the trip, didn’t I? Besides, they’ll be quite all right. They truly believe they can recreate the South here.” He chuckled.

  “You’re still a monster who uses people,” Hayden growled, disgust curdling in his belly. “And what about Magnolia?”

  “Miss Scott?” Patrick grinned. “A rare treat, that one. I would have loved to have stayed and sampled more of her wares, but alas there was money to be had.”

  This time Hayden did slug him. Right across the jaw, sending him tumbling backward, arms flailing, and finally dropping to the ground with a thud. He moaned, rubbed his jaw, but managed to swing out his legs and trip Hayden. He fell beside his father, but quickly leapt up and struck Patrick again. Blood spilled from Patrick’s nose as he scrambled to rise. Hayden clutched his collar, lifted him, and slammed him against the wall. The bamboo cracked. Palm fronds quivered above them.

  “When I find the gold, I’ll split it with you,” Patrick screeched, his eyes sparking in terror. “Anything you want.”

  “I don’t want your money.”

  “What do you want? To kill me for something I did over twenty years ago?”

  “No, I’m going to kill you for the man you are today. And for the promise I made Mother on her death bed to avenge her untimely death.”

  Tossing Patrick to the ground, Hayden wrapped his hands around the man’s neck and squeezed with all his might. His eyes bulged. His face grew purple as he tried to seize Hayden’s fingers, desperate for release, desperate for life. As Hayden’s mother had been when she’d gasped her last breath. This is for you, Mother. Finally, you will have justice.

  A plea for mercy seeped from Patrick’s eyes. Hayden searched for the joy, the thrill he expected to feel as he squashed the final breath from the man who had ruined his life. But instead, remorse pinched him. Guilt. And a sense of evil he’d never felt before. Still he squeezed, unable to release his hold. He would have continued, too, if strong hands hadn’t pried his fingers away and shoved him off the man. Blake gave Hayden a look of horror as he pushed him back. Patrick coughed and sputtered and gasped for air, rubbing his throat.

  Eliza darted in, glanced at the scene, and went to check on Patrick.

  “Blast it! What is wrong with you?” Blake shoved Hayden outside.

  Hayden paced back and forth before the clinic, clenching and unclenching his fists, struggling to restrain his fury before he did what every fiber in him longed to do—barge back into the hut and finish the job. Before he could do just that, Blake dragged him down the street, stoked the embers in the main fire pit, and ordered Hayden to sit on a stool.

  “What’s this all about, Hayden?” Blake glanced toward the clinic where Eliza was still tending the monster’s wounds.

  Hayden stared at the flames.

  Selecting a log from a nearby pile, Blake tossed it onto the fire. “I tried to find you, to talk about what happened, but you disappeared.”

  “I needed to think.”

  “Think about how you were going to kill him? Blast it, man!” Blake limped around the fire and rubbed his leg. “Is he the reason you went to Rio?” He halted and stared at Hayden. “Is he the reason you stowed away on our ship?”

  Hayden nodded. “Back in Charleston, I heard he was in town, heard he’d signed up for your colony.”

  “Hmm. But, apparently, he started another colony and arrived sooner than we did,” Blake said.

  “He must have taken a steam ship.” Hayden ran a hand through his hair. “What does it matter? You don’t know what he’s done to me.”

  “Then tell me. Tell me so I understand.” Blake pulled up a stump and sat down. The look in his eyes was one of true concern—a look that said I care. You can trust me. Hayden had never seen that look before, except recently in Magnolia’s eyes. And perhaps glimpses of it in some of his friends here, but never like this. Sincere concern. Holding the power to lure all his secrets out from hiding.

  A breeze whipped through the clearing, stirring dried leaves into a spin and dancing through the flames. A monkey howled in the distance. Hayden hung his head, released a heavy sigh, and slowly began to spill the story of how his father had abandoned them, how his mother had been crushed beneath carriage wheels, how he lived on the street, hungry and cold. And with the telling of each devastating event, Blake’s shoulders sank lower and lower.

  Leaning forward, Hayden planted his elbows on his knees and stared at the leaping flames. “I promised Mother on her death bed I would get revenge, that I would find my father and make him pay.”

  Blake squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Was that what she wanted?”

  The question shocked Hayden. He shot Blake a venomous look. “She was unconscious by then and slipped away an hour later. But I know she would have wanted retribution for dying so young. Who wouldn’t?”

  “Really? From what you’ve told me of her, I doubt she would have wanted this kind of life for you.”

  “You know nothing of her,” Hayden snapped.

  “No. But I know much about revenge.”

  Hayden nodded. Indeed. He’d heard Blake’s sad tale. How his entire family had died in the Atlanta burning, how h
is little brother had been killed on the battlefield. He had seen the fury in the colonel’s eyes when he’d discovered Eliza’s dirty little secret. Yet Blake had changed. Changed so much he ended up marrying a woman with the blood of his family on her hands.

  “I don’t know how you overcame your anger, your need for revenge, Blake. I could never forgive what my father did to me…to my mother. Her memory depends on it.”

  “If your mother was a godly woman, she’s happier now than she’s ever been.” Blake’s smile in contrast to the morbid topic confused Hayden.

  “For over a year,” Blake continued, “I wanted to kill any Yankee who crossed my path. I almost did kill a few.” He chuckled then locked eyes with Hayden, the lines on his forehead deepening. “The only way I overcame my bitterness was by handing my need for revenge over to God. By understanding that if He could forgive me for so much, I had no right not to forgive others. Besides, when you receive God’s love and forgiveness, it changes you. Makes you a better man.”

  Hayden flattened his lips. He’d be a better man when his father was dead. “God’s never been there for me. Perhaps for someone like you—a West Point graduate, a colonel who served your country courageously, a man of honor.” He shook his head and stared at the ground. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

  “I don’t have to know. And God doesn’t care about your past. He only cares that you turn to Him, ask His forgiveness and His help to forgive others.”

  Hayden studied the ex-colonel. When he’d first met him on board the ship, Hayden thought he’d found a kindred spirit and immediately became friends with the man whose bitterness and rage Hayden understood. But now that rage was gone, and a joy and peace surrounded Blake that Hayden envied. What would it feel like to be at peace? He had no idea—no remembrance of a time when he’d been at ease with himself and with life. But he would know soon enough. When justice was served.