by Betina Krahn
“So, I’m still alive?”
“Oh, yes.” Cordelia lurched over the bed and grabbed his hand, searching his face, then beaming relief. “Still very much alive.”
“I figured. Where th’ Almighty’d send me there ain’t nothin’ near as pretty as you.” He gave a rusty laugh.
“How do you feel?” Hart appeared beside Cordelia to check Hardacre’s pulse and temperature.
“Not bad. A little weak.” The old man struggled to sit up and with a little help and some cautioning, was soon upright on the side of the bed. As they watched he sat straighter and seemed to recover more of himself. “Pretty damned good, in fact.” He looked down at his foot with intense concentration, clearly trying to wiggle his toes.
“Hey, the pain’s gone!” He wrestled his gouty foot up onto the bed beside him and attacked the bandages. Hart lent a hand, and by the time they reached the end of the bandages Hardacre was wiggling much improved toes. “I’ll be doggoned—it worked!”
“Well, I’ll be—” Goodnight sank to his knees to examine Hardacre’s foot. Then he looked up at Cordelia, clearly unsettled. “I have no clue what just happened.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s only been ten hours. With us it took days.”
“Maybe it’s losing strength…as it dries up or gets older,” she suggested. “Or maybe his body is tougher than most.”
He looked up at Hardacre’s glowing face.
“Not beyond the pale of possibility,” he said, rising, scratching his head. “See, this is what I hate—not knowing—doing it witch-doctor style.”
Hardacre stepped gingerly on the foot he had so many times wished he could just cut off. The pain was virtually gone. He began to walk, then to dance around the room. Soon, he stood in the middle of the floor with his arms wide open and his heart renewed.
“Montgomery,” he roared. “Montgomery!” He reached for the bell pull, and in the morning quiet, they could hear the servants’ bell ringing all the way up the back stairs. The young officer came lurching into the room seconds later, looking disheveled and alarmed. He’d apparently fallen asleep on the bench in the adjoining dressing room; he had a wicked sleep crease across one cheek. “Get me my left shoe, Montgomery! By damn—I’m going to wear two shoes today for the first time in years.”
But before the young officer could reach the dressing room door, Hardacre was barking still more orders.
“And tell the cook we want eggs and ham and grits and biscuits—the whole works—for breakfast. I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse. And make up the guest room. We got family comin’ to stay.”
He halted and turned to Cordelia with a question in his eyes.
She felt Hart come up behind her and leaned back into the shelter of his arms with a throaty laugh.
“Yes,” she said, “we’re definitely family. And we’re here to stay.”
Epilogue
Eight years later
The long, French-gabled greenhouse was humid and fragrant with the scents of damp earth, moss, and decaying wood. The shelves and tables were lined with orchids, some in pots and others seated in wooden latices that allowed their bare, wizened roots to grow free in the moist air. The place was full of showy blooms in white and yellow, delicate green and fuschia, lilac and brazen orange. But the dominant color, from the predominant species, was a magnificent ruby red.
Cordelia, busy with her shears and watering can, barely heard the crunch of little feet on the gravel path before her four-year-old son barreled into her legs, almost knocking her off her feet.
“Mommie, Mommie, we’re home!”
She looked with a smile down into the glowing face of the boy wrapped around her knees, who held her captive in a dozen other ways as well.
“Max!” She set aside her shears and stooped to give him the hug he was bent on having. A second set of footfalls caused her to look up. “Olivia!” She laughed and extended an arm to draw her seven-year-old daughter against her as well. “What are my two monkeys doing out here?”
“We just got home and came to see if you’re finished.” Olivia looked around, her golden-hazel eyes lighting with curiosity. “Can I help?”
“I’m nearly through. How about if you water that end of the table, while I finish some trimming?” When Olivia nodded and reached for the watering can, Cordelia held up a finger to collect her’s and Max’s attention.
“What’s our first rule of the greenhouse?” she said for the hundredth time.
“Never put anything in your mouth,” Max and Olivia repeated together.
“Right.” She handed over the watering can and saw her daughter frown.
“But Papa does. He puts things in his mouth all the time,” Olivia said with a maturity of perception that hadn’t been there last month or even last week.
“Your father has the constitution of a Clydesdale. Because he’s British. You, on the other hand, are only half British. So you can’t afford to go around chewing on stray plant and animal matter. Understood?”
Olivia nodded, though she didn’t seem entirely satisfied with that answer. As Cordelia turned back to her work, she heard another set of footsteps. She looked up to find Hart stopped just inside the door, bending down to look beneath the plant tables.
There was a mischievous giggle from somewhere near her feet, and Hart stalked forward menacingly, still bent in half.
“Fee Fie Fo Fum…I smell a tasty little boy on the run.”
There was more chasing and scrambling before Max was caught and dragged out from under a table and up into his father’s arms.
Flushed with pleasure, Hart carried him over to Cordelia. “Hello, Gorgeous,” he said dropping a kiss on her upturned lips that drew a dubious look from Max. Then he stooped to pick Olivia up in the other arm, and for a moment—his arms filled with the bounty of their love—he looked like the happiest man on earth.
“You must have had a good day,” she said, searching his face.
“We isolated another compound. That makes nine.” He turned with the children to look at one of the showy red flowers that seemed to contain a pharmacy in each plant. “Nine out of one plant. It’s unprecedented. I can’t wait to write this one up. I want to see your grandfather’s face when he hears it.”
“Grandpa’s here.” Olivia gave her father an adoring look. “He went into the parlor for a nap when we got back from the zoo. He’s staying for supper.”
Hart sighed. “I really should start work on something for indigestion.”
“Grandpa says I’m gonna be a typhoon,” Max said, looking very pleased.
“He did, did he?” Cordelia removed her gloves.
“He’s gonna teach me.” Max’s pride was quickly replaced by confusion. “What’s a typhoon?”
“A very large storm. Lots of excess wind. Your grandfather’s a perfect example,” Hart said, drawing an elbow in the ribs from Cordelia.
“I think Grandpa meant to say ‘tycoon,’ Max,” she said. “That’s someone who buys and sells lots of things and seems to have fun doing it.”
“What’s it called again?” Max cocked his head.
“Tycoon,” she said, helping Olivia down from her father’s arms and giving Hart a loving look above the children’s heads as they left the greenhouse.
“Well, Grandpa says I’m going to be an adventurer,” Olivia said, claiming her share of attention. “He says I’ll climb volcanos and ride camels across deserts and chop my way through jungles to find treasures.”
“He does, does he?” Cordelia glanced at Hart and bit her lip. He shook his head silently.
“He says he’ll teach me,” Olivia said. “He says he found a great treasure once in Mexico.”
“He found a treasure?” Hart looked at Cordelia with a remnant of old outrage rising in his expression.
“Yes, well, I’m sure he had a little help,” Cordelia said turning her face into the breeze as they walked across the lawn to the house.
After dessert that evening, Hardacre announced he had
a little present for the children and led them into the parlor to see a battered old trunk that was oddly familiar to Hart’s and Cordelia’s eyes.
“This is a very special trunk,” the old man said, leaning toward the children with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Is it magic?” Max asked, running to it to explore with pudgy fingers.
“No,” and “Not exactly,” came from Hart and Cordelia respectively.
“Absolutely!” Hardacre declared with a cackle. “Chock full of mysteries and adventures for the takin’. I told ye I’d show ye how to be an adventurer, Livy Girl. Well, this here”—he patted the trunk—“is the key. An’ I’m givin’ it to you an’ Max!”
“Wow!”
“Can we open it?”
“Samuel P., don’t you dare!”
“Well, dammit. Here we go again.”
Author’s Note
I hope you enjoyed the story of Cordelia’s and Hart’s True Desires half as much as I did the writing of it. The glory of love is the power it has to change our hearts and transform our lives…to make us whole. It is a particular joy to bring to readers two characters who have become so real and vibrant to me.
Rest assured that the details of time and place are as authentic as research can make them. The old Tampa Bay Hotel, once the winter playground of the rich and powerful, exists today as part of the University of Tampa campus and looks much the same. The Plant Steamship Line, part of the Henry B. Plant empire of railroads, ships, and real estate, was discontinued years ago. But it served Tampa and Havana with the exact ships and schedule portrayed in the book. Havana, the University of Havana, the Hotel San Miguel, and the tensions caused by “Spanish” soldiers patrolling the city are taken from archives of journalists and historians who chronicled the time leading up to what is now called the Spanish-Cuban-American War.
I was able to secure old silent film footage (from authentichistory.com) of actual battles, the capture of prisoners, naval ships, cavalry movements with Teddy Roosevelt, and stateside parades to help set the period and details. Captain John “Dynamite” O’Brien was a historical figure, a champion of the freedom of the Cuban people who repeatedly risked his life smuggling guns, ammunition, and freedom fighters into Cuba. Cubans revere him to this day. I’d like to think he would have enjoyed spiriting Cordelia and Hart away from danger and collecting a tidy little sum to help purchase weapons and supplies for his freedom loving Cuban friends.
The details of the Mexican rainforest and the area around Tecolutla in Veracruz were taken from extensive research on the ecology and culture of this remarkable part of the world. It is estimated that 10 percent of the world’s biodiversity resides in the state of Veracruz, Mexico. Its unique range of climate and extraordinary topography make for an astonishing range of living organisms—including the fabulous orchids, vine/whip snakes, magnificent butterflies, and jaguars portrayed here.
Jaguars, by the way, are very curious cats. Literally. There are numerous documented cases of them following human parties for days through the jungle just to watch them. I read this before planning Cordelia and Hart’s adventure and realized that some readers might think it improbable that a jaguar would follow an expedition as Cordelia and Hart’s jaguar did. Once again, truth is stranger than fiction.
As to Mayan culture…my understanding of and respect for the Maya has changed forever the way I look at the “settling” of the New World and the flow of subsequent history. The Mayan culture was highly developed and, unlike the Aztecs and other conquered people, the Maya still exist in huge numbers and celebrate their culture. Though their written language was lost, as many as seven million still speak native Maya dialects! Mayans revere the jaguar still. There are at least two old “temples” in southern Mexico that served as centers for rites of the “knights of the jaguar,” though little is known about how they were used.
And as to the ruins portrayed here, “the hills with doors” is a good description of the odd conical mounds above some of the unexplored ruins in southern Mexico. There are many areas and ruins that have yet to be explored or excavated. There truly is, as Professor Valiente says, an entire world buried beneath the sands of Mexico.
If you would like to see some of the inspirations for this book or find references for further study, I invite you to check out the “True Desires Inspiration” pages at BetinaKrahn.com.
Grace and Peace.
Betina