Abandoned Memories (15 page)

Hayden flung a hand to his throat, eyes flashing. Frantic, he brushed fingers over his neck, chin, and jaw before he released a long sigh. Blake, James, and even Thiago chuckled as Hayden gave them a look of annoyance. “Amusing. Very amusing.”

On the way back to town, James caught up with Thiago. “You realize that this myth of Lobisón is just that, a myth. Surely you don’t believe that men become wolves.”

The Brazilian interpreter shrugged. “Many of my people see Lobisón.” Shoving aside a large fern, he gave James a curious look. “You are man of God. There is much we not know about world and spirits. Like evil angels you speak of.”

James flattened his lips. The man did have a point, but his answer made James wonder at his spiritual condition. “Do you believe in God, Thiago?”

“Sim, Mr. James.” He nodded.

“And His Son, Jesus?” A frog croaked, and James barely missed stepping on it as it splashed across the path.

“Jesus opened way to heaven.” Thiago shook water from his hair. “We pay money to priests for family to go. That’s why we must make many friends in life, so many will pay our way.”

Shocked at the man’s words, James felt an urgency stir his spirit. He was the town’s spiritual guide, and he couldn’t very well let this kind man continue in darkness. But how to reach him? “That isn’t really how it works. There is no price to pay. Jesus paid it on the cross. Then He gives us power to live good lives. He delivers, heals, and protects us.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. One glance over his shoulder told James the other men followed close behind, heads bent against the rain.

“There are women in Rio who heal people too.” Thiago sloshed through a rather large puddle. “Wise women use herbs and oils and many other things. One time they crush roasted worms and sing a chant to cure my toothache. They also make love potions. All you need is lock of hair from your beloved.” He frowned. “Wish I had some of Miss Sarah’s hair.”

James grew sad at the man’s beliefs that seemed to be a strange mixture of Catholicism and sorcery. “You don’t need a potion to make a woman love you. Nor do you need incantations for healing. And you especially don’t need anyone to buy your way into heaven.” He longed to set the young Brazilian free from beliefs that entrapped him in fear. Worse than that, beliefs that would eventually send him to hell.

Lightning flashed, and James kept pace with Thiago as they shoved through a wall of slippery vines. “In fact, you can’t buy your way into heaven at all,” James shouted above the storm. “God grants everyone entrance as a free gift to those who receive His Son. There is nothing else you need to do except get to know Him and follow Him.”

Another growl of thunder shook the sky, and for a minute, James thought he’d overstepped the Brazilian’s bounds. But finally Thiago said, “I will think on this, Mr. James.”

James smiled.

They stopped at the river before heading back into town. What once had been a smooth-flowing finger of blue and green gently caressing the land, now had transformed into the bulging muscle of a raging bully shoving his way through the jungle. The sandy beach that had once spanned several yards up to an embankment had disappeared beneath a torrent of rushing gray water. At its edge, foam clawed the sheer rock where they stood, licking and groping like a hungry child bent on having his way.

Spears of rain stabbed the water, bouncing and skipping over the surface, sounding like the clash of a thousand swords. James swallowed.

“You don’t think it will overflow its banks, do you?” He glanced at Blake, whose stern expression formed his usual unreadable mask. Hayden stood frozen at the sight. “We
are
in the middle of a valley.”

“True, but the river flows to the sea,” Blake answered, yet James didn’t miss the slight hesitation in his voice.

Hayden released a sigh of relief and kicked a stone into the frothing mass. “Right. There’s always an outlet for the water, then.”

Then why did James suddenly feel like he was sinking into the mud? And fast.

HAPTER
13

A
ngeline sank into the murky water, deeper and deeper. Shapes of life beyond the surface above grew blurry and hypnotic. Dark and cold, silence invaded her soul. Her lungs screamed for air—clawed her throat for life’s last breath. In a moment, death would grant her the peace that had eluded her in life. But the water continued to slosh and gurgle, refusing to be silenced.

Drip. Drip
. Water splattered on her eyes. She popped them open. Darkness slithered over a thatched roof where the
rat-tat-tat
of rain had drummed a steady cadence for five days.
Drip
. Another drop struck her neck. Light burst. A baby cried.
Lydia?
Water splashed.

“Angeline!” Sarah screamed.

Lantern light blinded Angeline before Sarah’s anxious face filled her vision. “Angeline! The river, it’s rising! We must get up!” Holding a lantern in one hand, she gripped Angeline’s arm in a pinch with the other, the pain finally forcing her to surface from her morbid dream.

“Get dressed!” Sarah shouted as she sloshed toward the other side of the hut. “I need to get Lydia.”

Knot in her throat, Angeline swung her legs over the cot. They landed in a foot of water—cold water that smothered her skin and sent a shiver up her back. Water that was rising. Fast!

“What’s happening?” She stood, grabbed a petticoat, skirt, and blouse off a hook and began putting them on as best she could. No time for a proper corset. Thunder boomed. Thatches quivered, sprinkling drops onto their liquid floor.

“It’s the river!” Sarah shouted over the roar of water as she bundled Lydia in a blanket and headed for the door. “Hurry!”

Before she could open the flap, Blake stuck his head in. “To higher ground! We haven’t much time!”

Tying her skirts on, Angeline grabbed Stowy and followed Sarah out the door. Darkness haunted a scene ravenous with the gush of water. In the distance, she made out Blake ushering the townspeople toward a hill that rose to the north. Madness, chaos all around! Shouts and screams zipped past her ears. People sloshed in all directions through the surging torrent. Lanterns speared light onto angry water. Rain pelted the surface like rabid pebbles.

She felt her neck. Her father’s ring! Swerving, she dove back into the hut, the river at her thighs now. Groping in the dark, she waded through water that felt as thick as molasses and found the table by her bed. She searched the chipped wood. There. The chain. The ring. She grabbed it and flung it over her head. Lifting her hair, she tucked it safely within her bodice. Stowy clawed her shoulder and meowed in protest.

The river reached her waist.

Stomach twisting, she plunged out of the hut, trying to settle the cat. Dark water swirled around her, tangling her skirts and shoving her legs backward. She lost her footing. Throwing out an arm for balance, she forced her shoes back into the mud. In the distance, dots of light ascended into darkness like angels flying back to heaven. The colonists had left her behind.

Her friends had left her behind!

She headed toward the lights, fighting both the rising current and her rising terror. The water surged, spinning its greedy claws round about her. Pulling, tugging, twisting. Ravaging her like an unwelcome lover. Rain lashed her head and arms. Her hair hung in ropes of lead. Lightning etched across the sky—a gray flash of death that left a vision imprinted on her mind: a liquid grave rising to swallow her alive, trees bowing in defeat, huts collapsing. Then all went dark again.

Nothing but the roar of the river and growl of thunder remained to keep her company. And Stowy’s fearful whines. The water reached her chest. Terror sucked the breath from her lungs. Her skirts felt like chain mail. Her legs tangled in the heavy fabric. Clenching her jaw, she thrust through the river, trying to shove the raging water aside with her arm. Her muscles ached. Her head grew light. The lights in the distance faded. She wasn’t going to make it. She was going to drown in the middle of the Brazilian jungle, her body swept away to be devoured by some beast when the waters receded.

A fitting punishment for her crimes.

Her eyes burned, but no tears came. Wasn’t it enough she’d been forced to give up James? Give up any chance at true happiness? What else did God want from her? Would He never be satisfied until she had paid for her sins with her life?
God, if You’re listening, I won’t pray for myself, but please save the rest of the colonists. My friends. James. And please give him the happiness he deserves
.

Her breath rasped over a dry throat. Her chest hurt. Water gripped her shoulders. Stowy’s nails clawed her skin as he clung to her neck.
God, please save Stowy!
The current grew swift. A shadow moved toward her. A thicket of branches and twigs. Sharp wood jabbed her. Knocked her over. Her feet swept out from under her. Water absorbed her face. Thrashing, she fought to keep her mouth and Stowy above the surface, gulping and choking as the river spilled into her lungs.

Handing Mrs. Matthews—who’d been separated during the confusion—back to her worried husband, James raised his lantern and turned, scanning the remaining colonists hiking up the hill. Sporadic lanterns dotted the jungle, spiraling and bobbing haphazard trails through leaves and vines. He squinted to make out faces in the brief glimpse afforded him. Anxious, pale faces, some casting fearful looks over their shoulders at the liquid death rising behind them. A fountain of bubbling pitch that snapped twigs and broke branches, devouring all in its path.

Thunder blasted, accompanied by the screech of birds and howl of creatures abandoning the forest floor for the canopy. James’s blood mimicked the mad rush of the river—hot and violent. And mind-numbing. Shock buzzed across his skin. Everything was ruined. Everything they’d worked so hard to build, destroyed. But he couldn’t think of that now. The river had breached its banks so quickly, they all would have surely drowned if he hadn’t been up translating more of the book—the book he’d handed Thiago for safekeeping only moments ago, along with his father’s Bible. Perhaps James should thank God for his obsession with the ancient manuscript.

After alerting Blake and making sure the eldest colonists were up and moving, James had gone in search of Angeline and Sarah, the only two single women in the colony, but poor Mrs. Matthews had latched onto him in hysterics, refusing to release him until he found her husband. Now, as James searched the colonists bringing up the rear, he thought he saw Sarah in the distance. Surely Angeline was with her.

Making his way down the slippery hill, he wiped rain from his eyes and batted aside sopping leaves, all the while encouraging colonists he passed—their arms full of clothing, tools, and weapons—to keep moving.

Thunder bellowed, shaking the ground. Shoving aside a cascade of vines, James nearly ran over Blake. Two muskets were strung over his left shoulder beneath which he hefted a sack of rice. Eliza, arms loaded with blankets and a satchel—no doubt full of medicines—clung to her husband’s other side, her expression stiff with alarm.

“Keep moving, my friend. We don’t know how far the river will rise.” Blake’s normally controlled tone was laced with fear.

Sarah stopped beside them, nestling Lydia to her chest against the rain.

“Where’s Angeline?” James scanned the three of them. Their eyes grew wide. Dread swept over him as they all glanced at the rising river. Lightning scored the sky, flickering a deathly pallor over the scene and a shroud of terror over his heart.

“She was right behind me!” Sarah shouted over the roar of water and rain.

Blake’s jaw bunched. He turned to Eliza. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

James clutched his friend’s arm. “No, I’ll go back for her. You get your wife and Sarah to safety.” Turning, he marched down the hill, not waiting for an answer. Below him, the jungle floor sped past in a mad dash, snapping branches from trees as if they were matchsticks. Somewhere out there, Angeline was fighting for her life. He would find her. He must. He could not fail.
God, please, not this time. I cannot fail at this
.