Abandoned Memories

by Marylu Tyndall

  Angeline quite agreed, but she wouldn’t say so. There was already far too much complaining firing about the camp.

  “Without proper attire we’d be naked crabs burrowing in the sand.” Eliza smiled, an infectious smile that caused all of them to grin, Sarah included, who assisted with the laundry on Angeline’s left.

  However, Magnolia’s smile soon faded. “Honestly, what is to become of us? The entire town is washed away. Not a single hut remains.”

  Angeline stooped to retrieve a dripping coverlet, her gaze drawn to James chopping wood down the beach. After the colonists had hauled everything they could find of use down to the shore, Blake had organized the men for different tasks. Some chopping wood, others building shelters, a few fishing. He’d asked some of the women to search for fruit, though most of it had been stripped from the trees by the mighty claws of the river. The rest of the colonists scoured the jungle for scattered goods. All except Dodd and Patrick, who insisted their time would be better spent looking for the gold that would—how had Patrick put it?—rebuild the town into a thriving metropolis. Angeline had met too many men like Patrick Gale in her life to give credence to a single word he spoke.

  As if in defiance of her thoughts, Sarah added, “Towns can be rebuilt, Magnolia.”

  “And they can be destroyed again, as well,” came the lady’s retort.

  Destroyed was a fitting description of New Hope. Demolished might be better. Every hut, bamboo pole, palm frond, and even the fire pit had been washed away. All that remained as evidence that civilized people had lived there was the stone oven beneath where the meeting shelter had once stood. In fact the ground was still so soggy and littered, there was no place to sleep. And it would take weeks to pick up all the debris in order to build again. Which is why they decided to settle on the beach for now. Though much of the sand near the mouth of the river had been washed away, this northern section of coast remained unscathed, save for mounds of wet sand and downed palm fronds.

  So much loss. So much sorrow. As Angeline glanced at the colonists scattered across the beach set to various tasks, she wondered what would become of their attempt at a Southern utopia. Already she’d heard rumblings from some who wanted to quit and go home.

  Two of those mumblers headed toward them now. Magnolia’s parents. Mr. Scott, gray hair askew, face red, arms stiff by his sides, marched in front of his wife who scurried along behind him, wringing her hands while the torn fringe of her hem dragged over the sand. Mable, their slave, followed on her heels.

  Magnolia released a heavy sigh as they halted before the clothesline.

  “Magnolia,” Mr. Scott began, lifting his chin as if addressing an assembly. “We have decided to return to Georgia on the next ship. Brazil is obviously no place for civilized people.”

  “And dearest”—Mrs. Scott placed a hand on her daughter’s arm, her tone desperate—“we want you to accompany us.”

  “In fact, we insist,” Mr. Scott added.

  Magnolia released an annoyed sigh. “In case you have forgotten, I am married now, Father.”

  “Do you think I could forget such a travesty?” Glancing around, he restrained his rising voice, or rather attempted to. “Since you ran off with that ruffian, I haven’t had a full night’s sleep!”

  His belligerent tone drew a few gazes from others down the beach, including Moses, who halted from chopping wood to wipe sweat from his face. His eyes latched upon Mable.

  “I didn’t run—” Magnolia began then gave a tight smile and faced her friends. “Why, excuse me, ladies.” Her Southern drawl reappeared as she lifted her skirts, looped an arm through her father’s, then escorted him and her mother out of earshot.

  Angeline’s pity rose for the lady. Though Angeline had lost her father at a young age, he’d been nothing like Mr. Scott. Perhaps Magnolia would be better off without him. Perhaps the entire town would. All except Moses, whose longing gaze toward Mable spoke of a growing affection that would be severed should the Scotts leave and take their slave with them.

  While Magnolia argued with her parents, Eliza eased beside Angeline, flung an arm around her shoulder, and squeezed her close, causing her bruises to throb. But the affection of such a good friend was well worth the pain. “You are very quiet, Angeline. Such an ordeal you endured being swept off by the river. We were so worried for you.”

  Angeline smiled. “I thought for sure I would drown.”

  “It’s amazing James found you at all.”

  “A miracle,” Sarah said as a breeze nearly tore the garment from her grasp. “And you and James spending the night in a tree?” The mischievous twinkle seemed so out of place in the pious woman’s eyes. Under normal circumstances, Angeline would have feigned a giggle or a blush or something else appropriate for maidens. Instead she only felt shame and sorrow.

  Her traitorous eyes swept to the man in question, standing over a log, ax hefted above his head, muscles strained. And she remembered the feel of those muscles encasing her in a fortress of protection. Not since she’d been a little girl snuggled in her father’s lap had she felt so safe. And loved. The loss of him joined the ache in her heart for her father. “He’s a good man.”

  “And quite fond of you.” Eliza shook water from a man’s torn vest and held it up to the fading light.

  A child’s belly laugh drew Angeline’s gaze to Thiago playing with Lydia in the sand. Anxious to change the topic, she gestured toward the Brazilian. “He’s so good with her, Sarah. You must be pleased.”

  “Yes.” Seemingly lost in her thoughts, Sarah smiled as she glanced at the handsome Brazilian swinging six-month-old Lydia around in a circle. Perhaps a woman like Angeline would never marry and have children, but a saint like Sarah certainly deserved happiness.

  Leaves parted, and Dodd emerged from the jungle just feet from where they hung clothes. His wink sent a chill scraping down Angeline before another chill followed when Patrick Gale sauntered onto the beach after him. Had they found their gold? No. Not from the scowl on Patrick’s face. Another man, one of the farmers, burst from the trees, his chest heaving, his eyes searching the beach and then dashing toward Blake, shouting, “Mr. Lewis is missing. We can’t find him anywhere!”

  James tried to keep his focus on the flames instead of on Angeline, who sat on a stump across from the huge fire. But his gaze kept wandering her way. Her hair, tied in a braid, tumbled over the front of one shoulder down to her waist, where Stowy batted the curled tips. Firelight reflected such sorrow in her violet eyes, it made him long to sit beside her and make her smile again as he had in the tree. Before she’d become a dragon and spurned his kindness. Ah, the woman’s fickle moods! He would never understand her. Perhaps that was part of her allure. Yet, despite that allure and her insistence otherwise, he knew she felt something for him.

  Resisting the urge to approach her, he lowered to sit upon one of the logs framing the massive fire, where colonists assembled for a town meeting. Or a beach meeting, since there was no longer a town. A salty breeze whipped the flames into a frenzy before blasting over James, filling his lungs with the smell of fish and brine and wood smoke. Crashing waves serenaded them, drowning out the drone of the jungle just yards away. One by one, the colonists took positions around the fire, some sitting, some standing, all looking hopeless and worn. It had been a long day of hard work—a long day of disappointment.

  Stretching the aches from his back, James glanced toward the row of shelters he and some of the other men had managed to erect. Not nearly enough for everyone, but at least the ladies would have some protection from the elements.

  “What are we gonna do, Colonel?” one of the ex-soldiers finally said when all were assembled. “What’s the plan?”

  “Plan? How can there be a plan?” Mr. Scott bellowed, thumbs stuck in his torn lapels. “The only reasonable course is to count our losses and head home.”

  Grumbles of assent followed.

  Blake rubbed the back of his neck and stared into the flames. Was it Jame
s’s imagination or did the colonel’s shoulders sit much lower after this last disaster?

  “That is one possible course, Mr. Scott,” Blake said, glancing at his wife, Eliza, who stood by his side. “We could give up and leave, go back home like the failures the North claims we are.”

  “Better failures than dead,” one man spat.

  “But have we done our best?” Hayden spoke up, gazing over the group. “At what point do we give up on our dream?”

  “When your dream is out to kill you, that’s when,” the blacksmith’s wife muttered, followed by bitter chuckles.

  “What do you make of all these disasters, Colonel?” another man asked.

  Blake exchanged a glance with James, an approving glance followed by a nod James took as permission to share what he knew. He rose to his feet, shrugging off his hesitation. They were all in this together; they might as well know everything. Even if it sounded completely and utterly mad. “We think this may be the work of a supernatural force.”

  “Poppycock,” Dodd scoffed, fingering his gold watch.

  Ignoring him, James continued. “There’s a book I’ve been translating written in ancient Hebrew. We found it at the temple.”

  “You talking about a curse, Doc?”

  “Yes and no.” James assessed the group, knowing full well most would think him unhinged. “We believe Mr. Graves released a supernatural being called Destruction and it is he, or it, who is wreaking havoc on our colony.”

  “Balderdash!” the baker shouted then scanned the group with a chortle. “I do believe the preacher’s still got water on the brain from the flood.”

  Chuckles joined the crackle of the fire. Yet some of the colonists remained somber, staring intently at James, waiting for him to continue.

  “Released from what?” one asked.

  “A prison of some sort…where Graves was digging.” James fisted hands at his waist while a gust of wind sent hair into his face. He snapped it away.

  One of the women hugged herself. “What sort of being are you talking about, Doctor?”

  Halfway above the dark horizon, the moon peeked from behind a heavy cloud, casting them in murky light. “An evil one, Mrs. Wilson. An invisible one.”

  More chuckles erupted.

  “He speaks the truth.” Blake’s commanding tone silenced them. “I’ve seen this temple myself. It’s a strange, evil place with broken chains that once imprisoned something, or someone.”

  “I have seen it as well,” Hayden offered, much to James’s surprise since the confidence man had been nothing but skeptical.

  “And me.” Angeline added, her gaze brushing over him—too quick for him to thank her.

  Wind sprayed them with sand and Magnolia stood, brushing off her skirts. “Haven’t we all had frightening visions? People long since dead appearing out of nowhere and talking to us?”

  Nods bobbed around the group.

  “Then why is it so hard to believe that some supernatural being is causing them?” She gave James a satisfied smile and sat back down beside Angeline.

  “You mean there’s more than one of them?” One of the farmers scratched his head.

  As if she could stand no more talk of evil beings, Mrs. Scott released a blubbering whimper and leaned on her husband’s arm. For once the man responded with kindness, drawing her close.

  “Yes, we believe so,” James said.

  “All the more reason to leave.” Mrs. Jenkins stood, drawing her young daughter into her skirts. “I don’t want Henrietta exposed to some unearthly evil.”

  Though she said nothing, Delia, Moses’s sister, nodded her agreement while gathering both her children close as well.

  “Let’s say this thing exists.” Mr. Jenkins swung an arm around his wife. “How can we fight it?”

  A crab skittered over James’s boot. He flipped it aside. “I don’t know yet. I need to translate more of the book.”

  “What if we can’t fight it? What if it keeps trying to destroy us?”

  Patrick, who’d been standing to the side keeping unusually quiet, now cleared his throat and pushed through the throng, fingering his graying goatee. “Come now, you can’t seriously be swallowing this gibberish? Invisible creatures? Bah! There are no such things. We are intelligent, civilized people, not unschooled savages.” He scanned the crowd with imperious green eyes. “I have not had a vision.”

  “Nor have I,” Dodd added.

  A cotton farmer from Louisiana stood. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Gale, madness or not, if this is something evil, all the more reason to leave. At least back home, I didn’t have the devil to contend with.”

  “Indeed,” one man yelled.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” another added.

  “Ah, I didn’t say that you shouldn’t leave. In fact, I think you should,” Patrick added. “There is nothing for genteel people here.”

  James’s anger boiled. “Have you considered that perhaps God brought us here to defeat this evil?” Shame burned in his gut that he hadn’t thought of that until now. If that was true, God would make a way, wouldn’t He?

  Moses stepped out of the shadows from beside his sister. “I say we’s got to try. God will be wid us.”

  “I ain’t listening to no Negro,” the cooper hissed, causing James to cringe and the crowd to start muttering.

  “Sorry, Colonel, Mr. Gale,” one of the ex-soldiers said, crossing his arms over his chest, “but I’ve made up my mind to leave. The next time Captain Barclay sails to our shores, me and my family will be on his ship headed home.”

  “Us too,” a farmer said.

  “And us.”

  While others stood and announced their intentions to do the same, James swept his gaze to Angeline, still staring at the fire. He wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to return as well, yet she said nothing.

  Mr. Scott moved to stand behind Magnolia. “You will return with us, Magnolia.” His normally strict tone held a hint of pleading that drew his daughter’s gaze and caused her to rise.

  Hayden took her hand in his. “Perhaps you should go, Princess. There’s nothing but hardship for you here right now. We will rebuild the colony, create better homes, bring a crop to harvest. And then I’ll send for you when it’s safe.”

  “Finally some sense from the man,” Mr. Scott announced.

  Ignoring her father, Magnolia gave her husband a look of reprimand. “Are you daft, Hayden Gale? I have no intention of ever leaving you. Not now. Not ever. We will get through this together.”

  Considering the way the woman had complained all day, James was taken aback. Yet even from where he stood, he felt the love stretching between husband and wife.

  Blake turned to Eliza, glanced over her swollen belly, and started to say something, but she silenced him with a lift of her finger. “Don’t you dare even say it. I’m staying with you.”

  “But the baby—”

  “Will be perfectly all right. I will have this baby here in Brazil. And he or she will be the firstfruits of this new land. Proof that we can survive anything.” Eliza glanced over the crowd. “And we can survive if we stay together.”

  James swallowed and lowered his gaze. Would a woman ever love him, be as devoted to him as Magnolia and Eliza were to their husbands? He glanced at Angeline. Her expression had changed from one of exhausted sorrow to tangible fear. James followed her gaze to find Dodd looking at her…no, more like leering at her. If he continued, James’s fist would pummel those eyes until they were too swollen to look at anyone for a very long time.

  But that wasn’t a very nice thing for a preacher to think.

  “Sorry,” one of the ex-soldiers announced, “but I still intend to leave.”

  “Us too.”

  “And us.”

  “Very well.” Blake released a heavy sigh and circled an arm around his wife, ushering her close. “I understand. I won’t try to stop you.”

  “We’ve lost everything, Colonel. Not only our homes and our meager belongings, but now our cro
ps. Twice. And worst of all, our hope.”

  “We still have our lives.” Hayden raked a hand through his hair. “And each other.”

  “What of Graves? What of Lewis?”

  “Graves died from his own foolishness,” Blake said. “And we will search for Mr. Lewis tomorrow.”

  The fire sputtered and snapped as a wave thundered ashore.

  “He probably drowned when the river rose,” one woman offered.

  Thiago tossed a log into the fire, shooting sparks into the black sky. “Or he become Lobisón—Wolfman.”

  Groans and wide eyes filtered over the group. A woman gasped.

  James chuckled. “Hogwash. Come now, everyone. Let’s keep our wits about us.”

  “Wits? You go on about curses and temples and supernatural beings, and you’re telling us to keep our wits about us?”

  James rubbed his chin. The man did have a point. Yet he didn’t have time to respond before a distant sound echoing through the trees made the hair on his arms prick to attention.

  The eerie howl of a lone wolf.

  C

  HAPTER 16

  Angeline hefted the basket of fruit in her arms. With only one orange and a half-spoiled mango, it wasn’t terribly heavy, but she had an ache in her shoulder that wouldn’t go away. Perhaps it was sleeping on the sand these past two weeks. Or perhaps it was an ache to match the one in her heart every time she saw James and had to force herself to avoid him. Avoid talking to him, seeing him, being anywhere near him. Which was difficult to do when they lived on the same beach. On the occasions when their eyes met, she saw the hurt in his, the yearning. And she wanted to scream, to cry…to run into his arms. But that was not possible. Not with Dodd watching her every move, slinking around the beach and jungle, eyeing her like the wolf that serenaded them each night with its baleful howl.

  Was it possible that Mr. Lewis had, indeed, transformed into the beast? For they had not been able to find hide nor hair of him since the flood.