Abandoned Memories (5 page)

“What if it isn’t a
who
at all?” James lifted a brow toward Blake.

Blake seemed to be pondering the possibility while Hayden offered a cynical chuckle.

“Regardless,” James continued, “we should post extra guards at night.”

“Indeed,” Blake agreed.

Angeline felt her admiration rising for the doctor as it did every time he spoke with such authority. Though Blake was the leader of the colony, James had assumed a position of power right beside him. As had Hayden. Wise and strong, the three of them had engendered the confidence of the people. And Angeline’s confidence as well. Even though she didn’t always agree with James’s position on spiritual matters, she trusted his judgment.

“What does your Hebrew book say?” she asked.

His eyes met hers. “Not enough at the moment. I need to translate more of it.”

Blake rubbed his leg where an old war wound still pained him. “Well, until you do, let’s assume this was nothing more than a natural disaster. I don’t want to scare the entire town with fables and myths.”

“Speaking of myths and fables,” Eliza said. “Where are Dodd and Patrick? We could have used a few more men to help.”

Hayden huffed. “Where else would my father be but out searching for gold?”

Taking a small brush from his pocket, Patrick Gale swept dirt from a boulder and took a seat. A drop of sweat trickled down his back, making him squirm while loosening a curse from his lips. “Blast this infernal heat!” He gazed up at the maze of vines and branches webbing the canopy, where birds of every color and size skipped and chirped and whined and essentially made nuisances of themselves. So many! Studying the shoulders of his Marseilles cotton shirt, he was relieved to not find spatters of bird droppings. “Over there. I said to dig there.” He pointed his jeweled finger to a portion of the creek a few feet from where the imbecile, Dodd, had planted his shovel.

Dodd leaned on the handle and gave him his usual exasperated glare. “Apologies, your
lordship
, but perhaps if you got off your bottom and helped now and then, I wouldn’t make so many mistakes.”

“We only have one shovel.” Patrick spread the three maps on his lap.

Squatting, Dodd cupped water onto his head, allowing the liquid to saturate his golden hair and trickle from the ends onto a chest bare except for tufts of hair scattered across it like brambles on a plain. “I’m the one doing all the digging, Patrick, while you sit in the shade and study those maps.”

That the man had ever been a sheriff astounded Patrick. Though one might consider him brawny enough, the deficit of a single intelligent thought must have made the job difficult at best. Dodd shook the water from his hair, spraying droplets over the dirt. Ah, yes, that’s what he reminded Patrick of—his grandfather’s dog, a Greyhound to be exact. Thin, powerful, with the same sharp, crooked nose, and just as clumsy and witless.

Patrick waved away a swarm of gnats. “How many times must I inform you, Mr. Dodd, that if we are ever to find this gold, I must spend my time examining every detail of these maps? Since you have been in possession of two of them for months and have made no progress, might I suggest that it may take a superior mind to decipher them? In which case, the best use of my time is in their study, and the best use of yours is digging where I tell you to dig.”

Dodd spit off to the side, no doubt an indication of his thoughts on the matter. “If you’re so smart, then why have you led me to dig in three different spots in the last two weeks and we’ve come up empty each time?”

A
caw, caw
rang above them as if even the birds laughed at the idiocy of such a question.

“This is not science, my friend. This is a puzzle, a code which one can interpret different ways depending on the position of each map in relation to the others.” Patrick stared at the maps. “Whoever designed these was a genius. Quite impressive.”

“So you have said.” Dodd gripped the handle and thrust the shovel into the gravel lining the creek bed then tossed the silt atop a growing pile on land. “All I have to say is we better find the treasure soon or I’ll be taking over the map deciphering.” He forced the shovel in again.

Patrick shook his head. It was like dealing with a child—an unruly child. And if he’d wanted to do that, he would have raised Hayden instead of left him and his mother when the lad was but two. But Dodd must be tolerated, for he provided the brawn for their venture. At the mature age of forty-three and with his experience and skill, Patrick had certainly risen above such menial work. He’d certainly risen above living in a hut and eating bananas like a monkey as well. Ah, the struggles he endured to line his pockets with gold!

To make matters worse, not only must he suffer in this bestial jungle, but he was forced to watch his ex-fiancée, the lovely Magnolia, stroll about town on his son’s arm, the two smiling and cooing at each other in a nauseating display of marital bliss. Why she chose him over Patrick, he’d never understand. Though Hayden had inherited Patrick’s good looks, he’d definitely received his plebian mannerisms and limited wit from his sweet mother. And to think Hayden had become a swindler like Patrick. A very bad one at that, to look at him now. Impoverished, living in a thatched hut in the most pathetic attempt at a colony Patrick had ever seen. No, Hayden was going nowhere.

Not like Patrick. He had plans. Big plans. Wind stirred the crinkled edges of the map, and he pressed them down, gliding a finger to the drawing of the well in the center. He folded the map across the figure then folded the other two maps at the precise points he’d determined and slid all three together. Yes. Yes. It was definitely this creek. He was sure of it. The treasure had to be here.

“Hurry up, Dodd. Hurry up, our gold awaits!” he shouted with exuberance.

Sweat streaming down his face, Dodd’s blue eyes speared him with disdain, but Patrick waved him away with a snort.

“
More gold than ye can carry
,” the old pirate had told him over a sputtering candle in the back room of a tavern in St. Augustine.
“More gold than ten men can carry. Why, ye’ll be the richest man in America.”
The man had looked to be near one hundred years old. He had a glass eye in one socket, no teeth in his mouth, and three missing fingers on his right hand. But Patrick believed him. The old pirate knew things no one else could.

That’s when Patrick had decided to come to Brazil. As luck would have it, the end of the war drove many Southerners in the same direction. All he had to do was organize a colony, collect everyone’s money, and he had a free ride to the land of promise.

Only the land of promise had turned out to be filled with insects the size of a fist, snakes that could strangle a man while he slept, and endless heat and hunger. And the map led him to one empty dig after another. Until he figured out it was only a piece of a much larger map.

The sweet crunch of a shovel into gravel drifted over his ears like a symphony. The gold had to be here. And when he found it, he intended to rid himself of the bird-witted Mr. Dodd. He’d also rid himself of his promise to pay back the Scotts and to invest in this primordial hovel they called a town. New Hope, indeed. There was nothing new or hopeful about the place. And Patrick couldn’t wait to shake its dust from his boots.

HAPTER
5

M
agnolia sidestepped a massive root and continued down the path to the river’s edge. “Mable, I’m so happy my mother released you for the day.”

“I’s glad too, Miss Magnolia. I thank you for your kindness.” The slave girl’s voice teetered on the edge of nervousness as she hurried along beside Magnolia. “If she knew what you were doin’ she’d be stormin’ mad.”

“Don’t you worry about her, Mable. She will never know.” Magnolia winked. A habit she’d acquired from Hayden. “Wells, I thank you just the same, Miss.” The Negro beauty graced Magnolia with a rare smile that flashed a row of alabaster teeth. No wonder Moses found the woman comely and charming and sweet. She was all those things and more. Why hadn’t Magnolia noticed how special Mable was when she’d been her personal slave?

“I’m so sorry, Mable, for all the times I mistreated you.” Magnolia swatted an oversized fern aside.

“You diden mistreat me, Miss.”

Halting, Magnolia gave the slave a look of reprimand. “Yes I did, and you know it. I was rude and condescending and behaved like a spoiled chit. While you were always kind to me.”

Mable looked down at worn shoes peeking out from beneath her equally worn skirts. “You’ve changed, Miss.”

“Yes I have.” They continued walking as the drone of insects heightened with each hop of the sun across the sky. It was not even noon, and perspiration already spread a sheen over Magnolia’s arms. She looped one of those arms through Mable’s. The slave tugged away. “People will see us, Miss.”

“I don’t care a whit. God has changed me, Mable. He exists and He loves me and He loves you too! And He doesn’t like slavery. All are equal in His eyes.” It was a revelation the Almighty had shown Magnolia recently, and she wished more than anything she could force her parents to free Mable, but they were having none of it. Their excuse was they couldn’t afford to pay her, and the girl had nowhere else to go. For the time being, Mable seemed content with her station in life, but Magnolia had other plans.

Plans that included the large black man standing at the edge of the river, staring across the wide expanse of sparkling blue and green. The man who caused Mable to stop and gasp in delight as she and Magnolia burst from the leaves onto the tiny beach. The young slave girl stepped on a twig, and the snap brought him around and split his face in a wide smile.

“Go.” Magnolia released her. The girl hesitated. “You have only a short time.”

“Thank you, Miss.” Her eyes glassy, Mable sped toward the stocky freedman and disappeared in his bearlike embrace. Magnolia knew she should turn away and continue on with her business, but she couldn’t help but stand and soak in the glow that beamed from both their faces as Moses led Mable to sit on a boulder and took her hands in his. A glow Magnolia knew all too well with Hayden.

When one is fortunate enough to find real love, it should not be denied. Especially not because of the color of one’s skin. My, but she
had
changed. She patted the mirror weighing down her right pocket and wondered if that change would at all be seen in her reflection.

A bee buzzed around her head, interrupting her musings. Batting it aside, she made her way to the river’s edge, set down her bucket, and lowered herself to a rock. A much easier feat without the crinoline she’d finally discarded for good. The gush and roar of the river bathed her in peace while sunlight rippled silvery jewels over water as blue as the sky. She pulled the mirror from her pocket and laid it facedown on her lap. Colorful flowers painted on porcelain stared up at her. A chip cut into the gilding that circled the painting, no doubt broken during her long trek to Rio de Janeiro through the jungle with Hayden. Ah, such fond memories! Yet, despite the flaw, the mirror her father had given her all those years ago was still beautiful.

But would she see beauty on the other side? Or was the prophecy spoken over her by the old woman—or perhaps angel—in the church still in effect? She hadn’t looked at her reflection in weeks—too fearful to see no change at all. Mable’s laughter drew her gaze to the couple holding hands and beaming at each other like lovesick children. She faced the river again. Taking a deep breath, she flipped the mirror over and held it to her face. She’d become so accustomed to her aged reflection, she no longer gasped in horror. Brittle gray hair sprang out above creviced, loose skin; thin cracked lips; and eyes that hid behind drooping lids. But wait. She touched her cheek. Wait. Not as many lines wrinkled her skin. She brushed fingers over her lips that now held a tinge of pink. And her hair…a few strands of blond sprang from among the gray. She
had
improved! Her heart was growing less dark, more filled with light. Thanks be to God!

Hearing footsteps, she quickly stuffed the mirror back into her pocket and turned to see Sarah approaching with baby Lydia strapped to her chest and two buckets in her hands.

“Ah, marriage agrees with you, Magnolia. I’ve never seen you smile so much!” Sarah set down her pails and gazed over the river. Across the rushing water that spanned at least twenty yards, an armadillo emerged from the thick jungle, stared at them for a moment, then dipped his snout in the swirling current.

“I never thought I
could
be this happy,” Magnolia said, hearing the lively bounce in her own voice. “Hayden is everything I could ever want in a husband and more. He’s absolutely—” She halted when she saw the dazed look of sorrow in Sarah’s eyes. “Oh, do forgive me. I’m going on and on when you…when…I wasn’t thinking.”

Sarah smiled. “That’s quite all right.”

“I can’t imagine enduring the pain of losing a husband.” Magnolia would simply shrivel up and die should something bad happen to Hayden.

Gurgling, Lydia reached up to touch her mother’s face, and Sarah kissed the child’s chubby fingers, gazing at her daughter with love. At least she still had something left of her husband. “The war stole many men from their wives,” Sarah said. “But Franklin is in a better place now.”