Captive Heart

by Patti Beckman

  She shuddered.

  The approaching storm removed any remaining indecision she had. Now she knew she had to find help to get Miguel out of the plane and to a doctor. And she had to do it soon.

  Moving quickly before she lost her nerve, she tossed the crutches out, and then scrambled down after them. The aspirin had eased the pain of her leg a bit. With a pair of crutches to help, she found she was able to navigate. It was slow and painful going over the rough terrain, but she thought with luck she might be able to reach the village by morning. That is, if she didn't get lost, or didn't get bitten by a snake in the underbrush, or if she didn't freeze to death.

  The cold air searched relentlessly through her flimsy jump suit and chilled her to the bone. How careless of her not to have brought a jacket! All she'd had on her mind today was the desperate plight of the village people.

  She knew she must travel due west. She remembered the spot where the sun had gone down between two mountain peaks, and set her course in that direction. With some experimentation, she found she was able to discard one of the crutches and get along with just the left crutch to help take the weight off her injured leg. That left her right hand free to hold the flashlight. Its flashing beam was a slender shaft of light that enabled her to find the best path over the rough ground.

  Once she left the clearing where the plane had crashed she found herself in inky blackness under a mass of trees. She was surrounded by a tangled growth of vines and underbrush. As she struggled along, she heard the strange night sounds of the jungle around her. Invisible wings would suddenly flutter above her. Something rustled in the underbrush near her ankle. She tried not to think about the kinds of wild beasts that lurked in this primitive area—pythons that could crush a human to death in minutes, panthers that could spring from a tree on their prey, poisonous reptiles slithering through the underbrush…

  She had been making her painful, limping progress for about an hour when the storm struck. The thunder had been growing louder, the lightning steadily more brilliant. And suddenly, great torrents of rain slashed down.

  She was soaked to the skin within minutes. Her teeth were chattering. She began whimpering with fright.

  Great searing flashes of lightning were exploding all around. There were crackling reports like cannons going off as bolts of lightning ripped into giant trees, splitting them apart and sending branches crashing down.

  She thought about poor Miguel, trapped in the gasoline soaked airplane with lightning striking all around, and she sobbed with despair and terror.

  The ground was becoming a soggy, slippery quagmire. Wet leaves and branches slapped at her. She fell down, struggled to her feet, slipped and fell down again. Somehow she got up, but a few feet further on, she fell hard. The flashlight was knocked from her hand and went tumbling down a ravine. She heard a tinkle of glass as it smashed against a rock far below. Now there was only inky blackness split apart by the blue-white flashes of lightning.

  JoNell huddled on the ground, sobbing frantically. As long as she'd had the flashlight, she had clung to a slender thread of hope. The flashlight had been like a friend, a companion. It had been her one weapon against the terrifying blackness of the jungle night. And she'd tried to believe that its flashing light frightened off predatory animals.

  But now she was totally at the mercy of the savage night, half frozen, and helplessly lost. She knew she was going to die here, terrified and utterly alone.

  Somehow she struggled to her feet. Now she was driven by sheer panic, the instinct to flee from danger. She pushed her way through the underbrush, ignoring the throbbing pain in her leg. She no longer had any sense of direction. There was only the primitive need to run.

  Then the ground gave way. She pitched headlong into empty space. A scream was on her lips, but was never uttered. She was swallowed by blackness, a void into which she sank endlessly down, down, down into oblivion…

  Consciousness was at first only fragmentary. There was white all around her. Faces peering down at her. A woman with a nurse's cap. A white ceiling. Darkness again.

  Another fragment. A man's quiet voice. White again. He wore a white jacket. She saw a hypodermic needle in his hand poised over her arm. She looked away. Another face. Jorge Del Toro. Very pale, very worried. She licked her dry lips. She wanted to say something to him. But the needle pricked her arm. And then she felt very comfortable and sleepy.

  She awoke and it was hard to breathe. Her chest hurt. She tried to complain. She looked around and saw only a plastic tent. She was trapped under the clear plastic tent. With a cry, she tried to sit up. But firm hands pushed her back. The reassuring voices again. The prick of the needle. Again the curtain of drowsiness closing around her.

  The next time, her surroundings were in sharper focus. The plastic tent was gone. She could breathe more easily. The woman with the nurse's cap looked down at her and smiled. "Well, we're much better today, aren't we?"

  She was talking Spanish. Why was she talking Spanish? Cuban, perhaps. So many in south Florida, now.

  JoNell swallowed and tried her voice. "Is my mother here?" she asked in English.

  The pretty nurse smiled, her eyes uncomprehending. "Would you be so kind as to speak in Spanish, seňora? I regret that my English is very poor. Your husband told us you are quite fluent in our language."

  "My husband?" JoNell asked blankly in Spanish.

  "Yes. He has hardly left your bedside for the past week. He just stepped out now for a bite to eat, but he will be back soon. He will be so happy that you are awake." She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Such a handsome man. You are a lucky seňora."

  "My husband—" JoNell repeated. She was very confused. She looked around the room. "Where is this place?"

  "You are in the hospital in Lima, seňora."

  "Lima?" JoNell was growing more confused.

  "Yes, you have been very ill, but you are much better now."

  "I'm afraid I'm kind of mixed up. How did I get here?"

  The nurse was busy fluffing her pillow. "You have a delightful accent, seňora. It's Cubano, is it not? I once had a cousin from Cuba who visited us. She spoke with the kind of lisp you use."

  JoNell closed her eyes. Evidently the nurse was not going to give her any information. Her mind was dulled and sluggish from medication. She felt as if she were groping in a fog for that elusive part of her mind that stored memories.

  But she was too tired to make the effort. She dozed for a while. Then she sighed and opened her eyes, feeling rested. She looked into the face of the most incredibly handsome man she had ever seen. For a fraction of a second he was a stranger to her. Then he was Jorge Del Toro, her husband.

  "Jorge!" she whispered.

  He was smiling, but his green eyes were filled with tears. She had never seen tears in his eyes before. She felt his big powerful hand close over hers. "Sh," he murmured softly. "You are all right now, JoNell. Everything is all right. But you must rest, the doctor said."

  "But what am I doing here?"

  And then, all in a rush, she remembered.

  Everything…

  She struggled to sit up, her eyes wide with terror. "Miguel! He's trapped in the plane. He's badly hurt. Jorge—you must get him out—"

  Gently, but firmly, he pushed her back. "JoNell, Miguel is safe. We got him out of the plane. He's fine. He left the hospital yesterday."

  "Yesterday?" she stammered. "But we crashed yesterday—"

  "No," he said quietly. "You crashed a week ago, JoNell."

  She stared at him incredulously. "A week ago! But—but where have I been?"

  "Right here, most of the time, although I'm afraid for a little while you were very close to the angels."

  "But how did I get here? The last thing I remember—" She frowned, straining to push away the last of the fog. "Yes, I remember. There was a storm. I was falling…"

  "You fell into a deep ravine. We found you there about dawn the next morning. Actually, you were less than a kilometer from the
plane. You'd walked in a circle."

  "But in that awful wilderness. How did you ever find us?"

  "When you didn't return with the last load of supplies, we became worried. We used the ham shortwave radio in the village to contact the airport in Lima. They said they had received a faint radio signal from you that you were down in the mountains, and gave your approximate location."

  "Then my radio was working!"

  "Yes. They were planning to send a helicopter from Lima to search for you as soon as it was light. But we didn't want to wait that long. From the location they gave, I knew you were not more than fifteen or twenty kilometers from the village. A storm was coming up. I had no intention of leaving you out there in the jungle all night. Some of my Indian friends in the village know that region as well as most people know the way to the bathrooms in their homes. We started out immediately to find you. We located the plane about midnight and got Miguel out. It wasn't that easy to find you. We searched the area the rest of the night. The sun was coming up when one of my men located your trail. There were broken branches, some drops of blood on weeds that had brushed against your leg. We found the flashlight. And, at last we found you. We carried you to the village where Dr. Torres administered first aid. Then the helicopter from Lima arrived, and we flew you and Miguel here to the hospital. Actually, Miguel got off lighter than you did. He had a pretty bad concussion, but recovered quickly. You, on the other hand, were suffering from shock and exposure which went into pneumonia. But now all that is over. You only have to rest and recuperate."

  JoNell remembered what the nurse had said, that Del Toro had scarcely left her bedside for the past week. She could see deep lines of fatigue and worry etched in his face. He seemed older. She wondered curiously why he had been so concerned about her. Then she realized that he must have felt responsible for her accident and close brush with death. After all, it was he who had asked her to ferry the supplies to the village. If he had not put her in that position, she would have been safely on her way home to Florida.

  The nurse came in with a small glass of bitter tasting medicine. JoNell swallowed it, then wanted to ask a lot more questions. But suddenly she became very sleepy. Her tongue was heavy. She thought, "Darn it, that medicine was a sedative…" and then she slept again.

  The next time she awoke, Del Toro was gone. She assumed that she was out of danger now, and he no longer felt obligated to keep a vigil by her bed.

  She slept again, and the next morning felt strong enough to sit up. She had her first solid food for breakfast. Then the nurse helped comb her hair and apply some light makeup. She felt almost human again.

  Becoming more aware of her surroundings now, she realized with a twinge of disappointment that there were no flowers in the room. "You'd think, after the way he had bushels of roses carted into my room at the mansion, Del Toro could have sent a few up here," she thought, then laughed at herself. There was no reason for him to send flowers here. The only reason he had deluged her with roses at first was when he was giving her the old Latin flattery bit. The time for such romantic foolishness ended when their relationship became nothing but a business agreement.

  Just the same, she wished he'd had a few delivered to her room.

  The phone in her room rang. The nurse answered it, then brought it to the bed. "It is your mother, calling from North America. She has phoned every day to talk with your husband. He has kept her informed about your progress."

  JoNell and her mother had a tearful reunion by long distance. Her father was on the extension, so she talked with him, too, and with her Uncle Edgar. Her mother had wanted to fly to Lima, but didn't think it wise to leave her father alone. And Del Toro had assured them that JoNell was getting the best medical care money could buy.

  JoNell realized from the things her mother said, that Del Toro had kept from the family how seriously ill she had actually been, not wanting to alarm them. They assumed she had a respiratory illness, but had never been in any actual danger. JoNell was grateful to Del Toro for that. There had been no use in alarming her mother and father, especially considering her father's heart condition.

  She spent the rest of the morning dozing and watching a television program. After lunch, a nurse came in to arrange her pillows and smooth her bed. "Do you feel up to having a visitor? Your husband is outside."

  JoNell felt her heart suddenly beating faster. "Yes," she said quickly. Then reminded herself that this would probably be one of the last times she would see Del Toro.

  "Good afternoon," he said solemnly. "How are you feeling?"

  "Much better, thank you."

  He was holding a single long-stemmed red rose.

  "Is that rose for me?"

  "Yes."

  "It's beautiful."

  He placed the rose in a small white vase beside her bed. He stood looking at it thoughtfully, turning the stem in his fingers.

  "How is the village?"

  "It's slowly recovering."

  "And Angelita and her Carlos?"

  "Angelita is fine. Carlos had some broken bones. We've brought him to Lima for treatment, but he'll be all right."

  "And the little boy you pulled out of the wreckage of the house?"

  "He, too, we brought to Lima for special treatment. The doctors tell us he will recover, but it's going to take several operations before he can walk again."

  "And you'll pay for the treatment, won't you? I can see why the village depends on you so."

  He didn't answer. He was still looking at the rose. Then he said quietly, "JoNell, I am setting you free, as I promised. I am arranging the divorce so it will go quickly and quietly. In such matters it sometimes helps to have some influence and political pull. It won't be necessary for you to appear in court. As soon as you are able to travel, I'll arrange first-class passage on a jetliner. You have fulfilled your obligation to me."

  JoNell tried hard to hold back her tears. She managed to keep her voice from breaking, and said evenly, "That's fine."

  There was silence.

  Then she said, "Will you be all right now? I mean the political thing?"

  "Oh, yes. Gustamente has fled the country. I'm all right."

  "So you don't need an American wife any longer."

  A crooked, sad smile touched his handsome features. "I never did need an American wife. Not for that reason."

  She looked at him blankly. "What?"

  He sighed. "I must now confess, JoNell. I have not been totally honest with you. No, I should say I haven't been honest at all."

  A stinging flush rose to her cheeks. "You don't have to make any confessions about Consuelo. I—"

  He waved his hand impatiently. "Please forget about Consuelo. She means nothing to me."

  JoNell's jaw dropped. "What? But—but—"

  "I don't want to talk about Consuelo. I want to talk about the reason I asked you to marry me. The truth is, I lied to you about needing an American wife to get me into the United States in a hurry. You see, my parents were in the United States on business when I was born. My mother was a citizen of your country. Since I was born there, I too, am a citizen of the United States. When we were back in this country, it was an easy matter for rich business people to get a Peruvian doctor to make out a Peruvian birth certificate for me, for citizenship purposes in this country. But by birth, I am not Peruvian. I am as much an American as you, if I wish to claim United States citizenship."

  JoNell was speechless. Finally, she shook her head in bewilderment. "Then why did you trick me into marrying you?"

  He fell silent. He sat in a chair near the bed and looked down at his large, strong fingers spread out on his knees. "I couldn't think of any other way of keeping you here close to me."

  She stared at him.

  He made a gesture with his hand. "Forgive me, JoNell. I know you are going to hate me even more than you already do. But I can't send you back to the United States without telling you the truth. You remember you had made up your mind to despise me. The minute we finis
hed the flying lessons, you packed to leave. You couldn't get out of my house fast enough. I had to think fast, and on the spur of the moment, came up with the idea of the 'business arrangement' wedding. It was—" he said humbly, "a desperate measure of a man hopelessly in love with a woman who hated him."

  JoNell felt dazed. She tried to grasp the full import of what he was telling her. She was too much in a state of shock to fully comprehend the meaning.

  "It was insane, I know," he admitted. "I had the crazy notion that if you lived with me for a while as my wife, got used to my kind of life and the things I could give you, perhaps you would grow to love me. But—" he shook his head sadly. "You only hated me more."

  JoNell finally managed to speak. "But—you never said—you never told me—" she whispered.

  "Oh, yes, but I did. In many ways, right from the start. The first lesson. That day we first kissed on the beach. The notes I sent with the flowers. You did not believe me. You were insulted. You said I was just handing you the customary line of Latin flattery. And it is true, Latin men do like to flatter their women in that manner. But I was sincere. However, since that approach seemed only to offend you, I decided to 'play it cool' as you say in America. I would simply be myself. I would let you see me as I am, the good sides and the bad for what they are worth. I would let you judge me as a man. There were moments—when we shared passion—that I was filled with hope. But afterward, you were always angry with yourself for responding to me, angry with me for awakening that response. You said it was only a physical thing, and that it did not reach your heart."

  Because I was afraid, she thought. Afraid to admit how I did feel, not wanting to be hurt. Hate was my only weapon.

  JoNell was clutching icy hands under the sheets, trying not to let him see how her fingers were trembling. Could he see the way her heart was pounding? She thought surely he must be able to hear it.