Elusive Hope

by Marylu Tyndall

  As if she could read his thoughts, Julianne’s face contorted. Flames flickered in her hard eyes. “Kill him,” she hissed. “It’s what you’ve wanted your entire life. Now’s your chance.”

  “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

  “You fool! You weak, pathetic fool.” She rose and brushed off her skirts, her face angular and harsh. But then it softened back into its familiar graceful curves. A glaze covered her eyes. “You must do it for me. The price for my forgiveness.”

  A breeze swept through the trees, swaying leaves and bringing shadows out from hiding. Dark mist slithered over the ground, swirled around her feet, and rose to circle her skirts like a cobra beneath its master’s flute. And for the first time in his life, Hayden sensed pure evil. Dark, heavy, powerful, all-consuming. And with it came a heady lust, an irresistible yank on his heart to obey her words. To murder his father.

  “Do it!” she shouted, her eyes fiery coals.

  “Oh, God.” Hayden dropped to his knees. “Help me!”

  All went silent. All save the frogs and crickets and night herons. He lifted his gaze. Julianne was gone. So were the shadows. Instead, a spire of moonlight lit the spot where she had stood. “God?” Hayden’s breath tangled in his throat. “Jesus, are you there?”

  A breeze played upon his face, spinning through his hair and cooling the sweat on his neck. “You exist. All this time I thought you were a fable, a myth.” Burning traveled from his throat to his eyes. He would not cry. He hadn’t cried since his mother died.

  “I’m so sorry, Lord. I’ve hurt so many people. Ruined so many lives.”A tear escaped. He batted it away.“I don’t deserve Your attention. I deserve nothing but judgment and pain.”

  Palm fronds fluttered, like angels laughing. No, not laughing, singing! Soft words sifted through his soul, “I LOVE YOU, SON. YOU ARE FORGIVEN.”

  Son? No one had ever called Hayden that before.

  A father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widows, is God in his holy habitation.

  The verse blared in his mind from a time long ago when he’d sat in the back of a cold, dark church in Tennessee and listened to the first sermon he’d heard since his mother died. Yet now as an overwhelming feeling of love and belonging fell on him, he could not deny that God was present, wrapping His arms around the little orphan boy shivering and starving on the streets of Charleston.

  God had been there all along. He’d always had a Father. One that would never abandon him.

  Rising, he closed his eyes to the moonlight and allowed the wind to dry his tears.

  He was a new man.

  CHAPTER 32

  Is that everything?” Magnolia corked the bottle of plantain tincture and placed it on the shelf, straightening the others beside it.

  “Yes,” Eliza said. “It’s more than enough. However did I run this place without you those two weeks you were gone?” She stuffed a loose strand into her bun then wiped down the examining table. “You are such a huge help.”

  Magnolia smiled, feeling a lift in her heart for the first time in four days—four days since Patrick Gale had arrived in town and ruined her life. Again. Yet, in the meantime, she had more than proven her service to the colony—that she could earn her keep, take care of herself, and have no need for her parents’ support. The realization was exhilarating. Or it would be if she weren’t so melancholy. “Truly? Or are you just being kind?”

  Eliza gave her a look of reprimand.“I wouldn’t lie to you, Magnolia. You have a real knack for nursing. And you’re a hard worker. At least you’ve become one since your trip to Rio.”

  Had she? Had she been that lazy before? “Don’t tell my father that. He considers work akin to profanity.” She chuckled.

  “Good to hear you laugh again.” Eliza threw the dirty cloth into a bucket.

  Magnolia gazed out the window where the setting sun angled through palms and lined the floor with wavering strips of light. “As long as I don’t think about things, I’m all right. Which is why I truly appreciate you allowing me to help in the clinic. It keeps my mind off my problems.” Untying her apron, she drew it from her waist.

  “Which one? Patrick or Hayden?” Eliza gave her a teasing smile.

  “Both, I suppose. Though I’m relieved Patrick has been spending his days with Dodd hunting gold, sparing me the discomfort of his presence.” Yet as relieved as she was of their absence, she’d been equally dismayed that Hayden had been absent as well.

  “I don’t know whether to pray that Patrick and Dodd find the gold soon, or that they never find it.” Eliza began picking up dirty scissors, knives, needles, tweezers, and other medical instruments. “Hayden doesn’t believe his father will stay long after they do.”

  Of course he wouldn’t. Magnolia would bet her life the charlatan would break his promise and run off with any treasure he found, leaving her still indebted to her parents. But the worst of it was Hayden would leave as well, ever in pursuit of his blasted revenge.

  Eliza touched Magnolia’s arm. “Your parents shouldn’t have blamed you for what happened. You were all fooled by the man.”

  “Perhaps.” Magnolia tossed her dirty apron into a basket and looked down. “I don’t know. But that’s kind of you to say.” She bit her lip. “But, then, you’ve always been kind to me, Eliza. Even when I blackmailed you for liquor on board the New Hope.”

  Eliza’s golden eyes twinkled. “It all ended well. And your issue with drink? Has that ended well?” She picked up the tray of instruments and gave Magnolia a questioning look.

  “Truth be told, I still struggle with it now and then.”

  The door flap swept open and Angeline entered, thankfully cutting the conversation short. Smiling at them both, she handed Eliza a bundle of dried herbs, while Stowy, her cat, circled the hem of her skirts. “Suma root. Complements of Mrs. Matthews. For your medicine chest.”

  “Wonderful.” Setting down the tray, Eliza skirted the examination table and set the plants on a shelf. “Perhaps if we don’t have too many patients tomorrow, Magnolia, I can show you how to crush these and create a tincture.”

  “I’d love to learn.” Though Magnolia tried to interject excitement in her voice, her doleful tone drew Angeline’s gaze.

  “Why, Magnolia, I just came from the meeting area and I’d swear Hayden wears the same sour face you do,” she said. “Perhaps you both suffer from the same malady?” She smiled.

  Magnolia picked up the tray of instruments and carried it to the side table where a bucket of clean water waited. She hated that the entire town knew Hayden had broken off their courtship. She hated the whispers that ceased when she came near, the smirks, the looks of pity. She did not want to be pitied. “A Scott is never pitied,” her father always said. And besides, what’s done was done.

  “His father’s appearance has upset him greatly,” she answered Angeline.

  “No doubt.” Angeline twirled a lock of her russet hair. “As I’m sure it has upset you. I just don’t see the point of you both denying your affections for each other.”

  “He doesn’t want me anymore. Not after discovering I was engaged to his father. In fact, you can have him, Angeline. He’s never hidden his interest in you.” Magnolia flinched when her voice came out more clipped than she intended, but Angeline didn’t seem to notice.

  “His gaze follows you everywhere in camp. He doesn’t even know I exist.”

  Forcing Angeline’s words from her heart where they would only cause more pain, Magnolia raised her gaze to find both her friends staring at her curiously. A loose strand of hair tickled her shoulder, and she tucked it in place. “I must look a fright. And look at the dirt in my fingernails.” She held them up before her.

  “You always glow, Magnolia,” Eliza said. “Surely you know that. Besides, a woman’s beauty doesn’t come from hairstyles or jewelry or clothing. It comes from within.”

  Magnolia studied Eliza, half expecting to see the old woman from the church materialize in place of her friend. But it
was only Eliza, with the usual approval beaming from her eyes. So accepting, so loving of everyone. So unlike Magnolia. Beauty comes from within. Could it be true? Could everything she’d ever thought or ever learned be so completely wrong?

  Scooping up Stowy, Angeline bundled the cat in her arms. “I quite agree, Eliza. True beauty is more than fripperies and finery. Thank goodness, because it’s far too difficult to keep up appearances in this jungle.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” Eliza chuckled, placing the instruments in water. “I do miss a few of the finer things back home, hot baths, for one.”

  “And perfume,” Angeline added.

  “And being fitted for a new gown…” Eliza said.

  “And wearing satin slippers with no fear of getting them muddy.”

  “And—”

  “But how does one adorn one’s inside?” Magnolia interrupted, drawing both their gazes.

  Eliza approached and squeezed her hand. “Only God can do that. All you have to do is ask Him. He loves you, Magnolia. He formed you in your mother’s womb to be unique and talented and beautiful and…well, just to be you.”

  Eliza’s statement followed Magnolia as she made her way down the main street later that day. Was that what the old woman in the church was trying to tell her? That she had to turn to God? It was all too confusing. Though the scent of roasted fish permeated the air, her stomach knotted. She had no desire to eat. All she wanted was to find someplace alone where she could nurse her broken heart.

  A child’s laughter drew her gaze to Mr. Jenkins, one of the famers, coming home from working in the fields. His little girl, Henrietta, ran into his arms without a care about the layers of sweat and grim covering the man. He spun her around, showering her with kisses as her giggles rose to join the birdsong above them. Frozen in place, Magnolia watched as he lowered her to a bench and sat beside her, listening with rapt attention as she told him about her day. He didn’t rush to clean off the filth from the fields or dash to get his supper. No, he sat and listened as if she were the most important thing in the world to him—his special princess. Mercy me, he didn’t even notice that her dress was stained and her hair was a rat’s nest! Nothing but love poured from his gaze onto his little girl. Tears flooded Magnolia’s eyes. Was that how a father was supposed to treat his daughter? Not with harsh words and impossible expectations? But simple adoration?

  The vision blurred before her, and she started on her way again, lowering her gaze lest others see her crying. She dipped into Sarah’s hut, lit a lantern, then took it, along with her flask of pinga, and dove into the jungle. She needed time alone. Time to think, to sort things out, to plan. And to cry.

  Shoving aside leaves, she entered her favorite spot by a small creek and sat on a boulder beside the rippling water, finally allowing her tears to flow. One by one they slid down her cheeks and leapt from her jaw into her lap. She swiped them away. What good did it do to cry? She stared at the brook, her eyes drawn to a small pool of calm water by her feet. Dare she take a peek? Or would it just distress her further? Either way she’d better decide before the setting sun stole the remaining light.

  Leaning over, she cringed at the reflection and jerked back. Still old and ugly. And she’d been trying so hard to be kind and think of others! Helping out Eliza in the clinic, assisting Sarah with baby Lydia, working in the garden the other women had planted. Even carrying buckets of water from the river. But she was still ugly inside.

  Uncorking the flask, she gulped the pinga. Burning spice sped down her throat and warmed her belly. She tipped the flask to her lips once again. Perhaps if she drank enough, the grotesque image would disappear from her mind.

  Perhaps she should take her ugly self back to Georgia. Without Hayden, there was no point in staying in this uncivilized jungle. Yes, she had made friends—true friends—for the first time in her life. And she had employment—a trade. She was not useless as her father had always declared. But after tasting Hayden’s love, how could she live in the same town with him day in and day out? Even if he did end up leaving, there were too many memories of him here.

  And then there was Patrick. What if he didn’t find his gold for months? How could she live in such close proximity with the monster who had ruined her life? It was too much to ask. If she could find a way home, she might be able to locate Samuel and at least have a chance at contentment and peace. And comfort. Not happiness anymore. She could never be happy with anyone but Hayden. She ground her fists on her forehead. “Oh.” If only Patrick hadn’t shown up and ruined everything!

  Leaning back on the boulder, she plucked a leaf and fanned herself. “I’d kill him myself if I had the chance.”

  “Who’s that, my dear?” Shoving leaves aside, Patrick Gale materialized out of the foliage and headed toward her.

  “What are you doing here?” Setting down her flask, Magnolia jumped to her feet, feeling the rum crawl back up her throat. “Don’t come any closer.”

  Yet Patrick continued onward, the ever-present grin on his lips. “Don’t fret, my dear. I come as a friend not an enemy.”

  “You will always be my enemy.”

  “Always? I had hoped for a truce.” Lantern light shifted over his face and sparked desire in his eyes. Eyes the same color as Hayden’s yet devoid of the gleam that was uniquely his.

  “You hope in vain, Martin, or Patrick, or whoever you are. Not another step. I’m warning you.”

  “Such threats. Tsk tsk. I well remember the days you longed to be near me. In my arms. With my lips on yours.” He stopped before her—too close—eyeing her lips as if they were made of cake and he wanted a taste.

  He smelled of the same lavender-spice cologne he’d always worn, and she wondered how he could still have some left after months in the jungle. But Martin had always been a resourceful man. She stepped back, fear clamping her gut. She shoved it aside, choosing anger instead. “Do you honestly expect me to run into your arms after you lied to me, cheated me, ruined my family, and broke my heart?”

  “No.” He fingered his graying goatee. “But you can’t deny there is still a certain attraction between us.” He reached up to touch her cheek.

  She backed away. “I will deny it with my dying breath. Now, leave.”

  An animal growled in the distance, reminding her of the wolf that had attacked her. She shivered and stared at the beast hunting her now. His face was drawn in sorrow. But she knew it was a ruse. Everything the man did was a ruse to get what he wanted.

  “I have come to apologize and to tell you I’ve changed. Can’t a person change?”

  Instead of charming, he looked sinister in the shadows of light and dark. Sinister and miserable. And old. What had she ever seen in him? “Some people do change, I suppose. Others never will.”

  He pressed the hair above his ears into place. “I want to make things up to you, dearest.”

  “Don’t call me that!” Crossing her arms over her waist, she gazed over the swirling brook, envying its soothing dance. “I am in the middle of a savage jungle with no money, no prospects, and no future. All because of you. I doubt you can ever repay me.”

  “Ah, but I can. When I find the gold, I fully intend to repay your parents every dollar I stole.”

  She snapped her gaze back to his. “I hope that you do, sir, but I shan’t count on it. As I shan’t count on anything you say ever again.”

  He folded his lips in a smile—a patronizing smile—as if he had come to her rescue just in the nick of time.“We could run away together. Back to the States. You could have beautiful gowns and jewels and ladies’ maids to service your every whim.” He scanned her, frowning. “It would seem my offer could not have come a moment too soon. I’ve never seen you so out of sorts, dearest.” He brushed something from his coat sleeve. “The jungle is no place for a lady like you.”

  Memories of their time together invaded like a cold mist. Magnolia’s stomach shrank. She’d been so young, so impressionable, so eager to please this sophisticated man, that sh
e’d allowed him to critique her every move, her every word, as well as her appearance.

  Just like her father.

  He leaned forward and sniffed. A victorious grin lifted his perfectly coiffed mustache. “I see you’ve done away with your prudish ways and have finally taken to drink.”

  “You thought me a prude?” She gave a bitter laugh. “Is that why you constantly pushed me to savor your spirits? Or was it to lower my defenses so you could have your way with me?”

  He sighed. “But it never worked, did it?” Drawing a flask from inside his waistcoat, he tipped it toward her. “Scotch?”

  Magnolia licked her lips and looked away.

  Unscrewing the cap, he took a sip. “If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, dearest, perhaps we can start over?” He slipped the flask back into his pocket. “Begin a courtship anew. You always were my favorite.”

  “Your favorite what? Victim?” Magnolia snorted, suddenly wondering what his reflection would look like in the pond. “You sicken me, sir. I’d rather die a thousand deaths than tolerate one touch from you!”

  “Tant dramatique!” The salacious glimmer in his eyes brightened. “I always loved your passion.” He leaned toward her. “Perhaps a kiss for old time’s sake?”

  Magnolia raised her hand to slap him. He caught it and tugged it behind him, pinning her against his chest. Scotch and lavender combined in a repulsive odor that stung her nose. Her head spun. Her legs wobbled. She struggled to free herself and cried out. He grabbed her other arm and held it down. Lips descended on hers.

  Then he was gone. Disappeared in a mad swoosh. Magnolia stumbled to catch her balance and peered into the shadows to see Hayden shoving Patrick to the ground.

  “Haven’t you done enough?” Hayden growled, then picked the man up by his lapels and shoved a fist into his gut.

  Coughing, Patrick bent like a snapped twig and held up a hand to stay his son. When he recovered his breath, he stood upright and chuckled. Chuckled! Though Magnolia could see the hesitancy in his eyes. “Well played, son. Well played. But I had no intention of hurting her.”