Abandoned Memories (47 page)

Other tearful good-byes were performed in morbid playacts across the shore. Most of the colonists had opted to go home. Good food—anything but fish and fruit—a soft bed, new attire that wasn’t stained and torn, a house that didn’t blow away in the wind, libraries and plays and concerts, all the pleasures of society, lured them to abandon the fledgling colony for civilization. Even with James’s assurance that there would be no more visions or disasters.

But Brazil had burrowed deep within Angeline’s soul. It had changed her. Shown her that she was more than a comely face and figure to be used by men. It was here where she had met God and found her freedom. It was here where she had fallen in love. And it was here where her husband remained. She would stay with him, follow him wherever he went. Forever.

Her throat burned watching the mournful partings as the colonists settled, one by one, into the boats. She’d already hugged the ladies who had meant so much to her, who had treated her like one of them, and she’d bid farewell to all the men who were leaving. Except the one heading straight for her now.

James saw him too and slipped beside Angeline.

Dodd tugged off his hat and swept a hand through hair too long and unkempt for the civilization to which he headed. He wiggled his crooked nose and lowered his gaze. “I came to say good-bye.”

Though his tone was penitent, the sound of his voice sent a spike of dread down Angeline’s back. Surely he was up to something. Despite his recent promise that he wouldn’t take her home to face charges. Perhaps he had changed his mind, saving the cruel announcement until the last minute when he would clap her in irons and haul her aboard the
Espoliar
. She could almost see his malicious grin of victory.

But when he raised his face, all she saw was remorse.

“Good-bye, Mr. Dodd.” Angeline forced lightness into her tone, though her voice came out scratchy.

“I have no doubt you’re not sorry to see me go,” he said.

“I can’t say that I am.”

He smiled.

Hoping to discourage any last-minute change of heart, Angeline added, “I do thank you, however, for not turning me in.”

Dodd’s eyes shifted toward the sea, where incoming waves collapsed into bubbling foam. “You came back for me. Both of you.” He glanced at James. “You saved me, after all I’ve done.” He fumbled with his hat.

James held out his hand. “All is forgiven, Dodd.”

Surprise creased Dodd’s forehead as he gripped James’s hand in a firm shake. “Doc, I saw some things back there in the tunnels…things I need to consider. Things that got me thinking there’s more to life than gold.”

James grinned. “Indeed, there is, Mr. Dodd.”

Angeline spotted a light in Dodd’s eyes she’d never seen before. Was it possible God could change even Dodd? Well, of course it was.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get your gold,” she said.

“Are you now?” He grinned. “Where do you think that wedding ring on your finger came from?” He winked, plopped his hat atop his head, then turned and leapt into one of the boats.

Fourteen. Fourteen colonists. That was all that was left of New Hope. Yet, as James led them through the jungle to the spot where he hoped to reveal his plan, he couldn’t help but feel that these fourteen souls—together with God—could accomplish miracles.

Would
accomplish miracles.

His father’s Bible tucked beneath his arm, he entered the rubble-filled clearing and was relieved to not feel the usual heaviness. Turning, he faced his friends. Blake stood behind Eliza, his arms circling her and resting atop her rounded belly as both their confused gazes assessed James. Hayden, his foot bound from his wound, assisted Magnolia over a pile of rocks before they both stopped and scanned the clearing with alarm. Angeline sidled up to James with a look that said,
I don’t know what you’re doing, but I believe in you
. It warmed him even more than the heat of the day. Moses, hand entwined with Mable’s, sweat marring his forehead, approached the desolation with caution. Delia and her two children followed behind. And lastly, Thiago stepped beside Sarah, Lydia hoisted in his arms. As James’s gaze took in the way Thiago looked at Sarah and Moses looked at Mable, he wondered if he might be officiating more marriage ceremonies in the near future.

The thought brought another smile to his face, which quickly flattened when all their questioning eyes latched upon him. He cleared his throat and ran a sleeve over his forehead. Why did it always seem hotter here where the temple had once stood? Gazing up at the wispy clouds floating across the sky, he listened to the chatter of wildlife and chirp of birds filling the air—life’s constant lullaby.

“This is where we must build New Hope,” he finally said.

Blake’s forehead crinkled. “Here? Where the cannibals used to sacrifice”—he swallowed—“you mean on top of the tunnels?”

“Yes.” James said. “I believe we must. I believe we have to.” He gestured to a heap of remains where the temple had once stood. “I’m going to build a church here. A grand church with a steeple that rises high into the heavens.”

Silence, save for the buzz of insects, met his declaration, yet when he faced his friends again, the skepticism on their faces gave way to understanding. And finally to nods of affirmation.

“I says it a good idea,” Moses said.

Hayden gave a slanted grin as he scanned the area. “There’s plenty of good farming land. Much of it already cleared.”

“And it’s close enough to the river,” Eliza added.

“We build road to river. Good road,” Thiago said, tickling Lydia who responded with a giggle.

Sarah shrugged. “If we must start over, this place is as good as any.”

Angeline gazed up at James. “We must build a fountain in the middle of town. A glorious, sparkling fountain.”

For her, he would build a lake.

Magnolia twirled a lock of hair and frowned. “But why here? Why this morbid spot? It still makes me tremble.”

Lengthening his stance, James glanced over the ruins. “We must protect it. No one must ever dig beneath this land again. No one must ever come near those beasts.” He hesitated, not wanting to sound like a madman, but yet needing to share what he believed God had told him. “We are the guardians of these fallen angelic generals. That is why we were sent to Brazil. Not only to confine them…but to keep them confined.”

He half expected laughter, perhaps snorts of disbelief, but instead his friends stared into the clearing as if remembering the battle they’d so recently fought, remembering the horror of seeing such evil on the cusp of being released. Slowly, one by one, each determined gaze locked upon his.

Eliza smiled. “And we will teach our children to protect it, and they will teach theirs after them.”

Blake gave an approving nod and drew his wife close.

“Indeed,” James said, joy swelling within him. He raised the Bible in the air—the one his father had given him all those years ago. He’d not appreciated it back then. He’d not realized the power that existed in the Word of God. But he wouldn’t make that mistake again. “So what do you say? Shall we build New Hope on this place? Shall we make it the Southern utopia we always dreamed of? Shall we put a church atop the gates of hell? A symbol of good triumphing over evil?”

“All in favor, say aye,” Blake shouted.

“Ayes” fired into the air.

James turned to Angeline and nearly melted at the look of admiration in her eyes. He was no longer a failure. Not in her eyes. Or in the eyes of God. He had found his God-given purpose. And what a purpose it was! To protect the world from an evil that, if unleashed, would kill thousands, maybe more.

And to cherish and love this woman beside him with all of his heart, forever.

PILOGUE

Present day

T
here is a quaint little town in Brazil called New Hope. Located just south of Rio de Janeiro and a short distance from the coast, it boasts close to thirty thousand inhabitants. Some are farmers, some tradesmen, some workers, some teachers, doctors, priests. At first glance, there is nothing special about the town. Yet if you decide to stay awhile, you might hear pockets of English spoken here and there instead of Portuguese. You might notice that grits, fried chicken, vinegar pie, and cornbread are found on restaurant menus, that the city seal has distinct markings of the US Confederate flag, and that once a year on the fourth of July, the local women get dressed up in hoop skirts for square dancing and singing. If you lend an ear during the celebration, you may even hear the familiar tune of “Dixie” floating on the city streets.

In the center of town sits a church made of stone—a church more than one hundred and fifty years old. Though its stone walls are chipped, and one of its wooden doors is rotting, its white steeple thrusts toward the heavens, strong and bright. Stained glass decorates the windows, and some say in certain light you can see scenes form in the colored glass, depicting an ancient battle between humans and angels, complete with floods and fire and lightning bolts. If you are ever cold, just slip inside that church and I guarantee, you’ll be warm before you know it. What causes the heat when there is no electricity in the building, no one can explain to this day.

In front of the church stands a fountain with an angel carved in stone standing in its center, sword in hand. Water pours from the tip of the sword back into the fountain, where steam rises to meet the day. They say the fountain has curative properties, and you’ll often see locals and visitors alike dipping their hands in the unusually warm pool.

If you’re lucky, you’ll meet the old pastor of the church, a man by the name of Aleixo Callaway. A tall man in his eighties with a shock of gray hair and bronze eyes that can see right through a person. The kindest man you’ll ever meet. Honorable and wise, he is highly revered among the locals. In fact, it’s on account of him that the city council hasn’t torn down that old church and put up a new one. If you see him, ask him why. But make sure you have an hour to spare, for he loves to tell the tale of how his great-grandfather, along with five others, defeated four of the fiercest evil angels ever created, and entombed them beneath the church. It’s his job to keep them there, he’ll tell you. A job he’ll pass down to his son Cristovao when Aleixo passes on.

A bunch of malarkey if you ask me.

But it sure makes for a good story.

UTHOR
’

S
H

ISTORICAL
N

OTE

N
ew Hope, of course, is a fictional town, but it may interest the reader to know there is a real city in Brazil called Americana, located in the Brazilian state of São Paulo, very near to where I positioned New Hope. The town was originally populated by American Confederates fleeing the South, desperate to preserve their Southern way of life. They came to be known as
Confederados
, and the town became thus popularly known as
Villa dos Americanos
(Town of the Americans).

Though the majority of the Confederates who sailed to Brazil eventually returned home to America, many thousands remained. Their unique influence and culture are still evident throughout the country today. These immigrants didn’t just bring their Southern way of life, they brought new agricultural innovations and introduced the Georgia Rattlesnake watermelon, which flourished in Brazil. They also brought the buckboard wagon and Protestantism, as well as improvements in education and medicine.

If you happen to visit Americana, there is a small Confederate cemetery nearby in the city of Santa Bárbara named Campo. Take a stroll among the graves and view names such as Carlton, Cobb, Green, Moore, Smith, and tons more—all common names in Alabama, Georgia, and South Carolina in the nineteenth century. Inscribed on one of the headstones you’ll see the words:

“Soldier rest! Thy warfare o’er. Sleep the sleep that knows no breaking. Days of toil or nights of waking.”

Four times a year, a group of people gather at this cemetery and hold a service in a nearby chapel, where they sing Protestant revival hymns and gaze at an altar covered with three flags: Brazilian, Confederate, and American. Afterward they dress in costumes of nineteenth-century America and enjoy a huge meal of biscuits and gravy and Southern fried chicken. If you look real close, you’ll see that some of the people have red hair, freckles, and blue eyes, and many of them speak in a quaint English dialect. An odd sight, indeed, in the middle of Brazil! Although these American descendants have been meeting for years, it wasn’t until 1955 that this group of Confederados formally became the
Fraternidade Decendencia Americana
(American Descendants’ Fraternity), dedicated to preserving both the history and the culture of their Southern descendants.

BOUT THE
A

UTHOR