Elusive Hope (2 page)

“I beg to differ, Princess. You never know when a root might leap out and trip you again.”

“Very amusing,” She hissed. Choosing to ignore Hayden, but very aware of his presence beside her, Magnolia forged ahead, batting aside insects as she went. There certainly hadn’t been so many carnivorous, flying pests in Georgia, had there?
Georgia
. The name of her homeland soothed her nerves like honeyed tea. They’d told her Brazil was a paradise, a Garden of Eden, but instead she found it to be a seething maze of vermin-infested vines compared to Georgia’s gentle rolling hills and sweet honeysuckle trees.

Why, oh why, had her parents forced her from their plantation in Roswell, Georgia, from her servants and slaves and balls and gowns and friends and—well, if she were honest, they really had lost most of those things in the war. But regardless, why had they forced her from all she knew and dragged her into the jungles of Brazil?

And then there was the heat. Not just any heat, but a heat that was visible in spirals of steam rising from the greenery around them. She dabbed the perspiration on her neck and face and drew in a breath of humid air that weighed down her lungs, making them as heavy as her heart. She must return home. She could not spend the rest of her life in this primordial wasteland, slaving and sweating and working like a commoner. Wasting her beauty on men who were far beneath her.

Like the man beside her. A working man, a stowaway on their ship. Why, he hadn’t even planned on joining the colony. And though he’d stayed and helped them clear the fields and set up camp, she sensed a restlessness in him. As if he were waiting for something, looking for something—which would explain his many long absences from the colony. No, Hayden was not the type of man to plant roots in a shoddy outpost. She sensed a kindred spirit in him—a need for wealth and success—which was why she tolerated his presence. When he found what he was looking for here in Brazil, perhaps she could convince him to take her back home.

She batted aside a tangled mass of lichen hanging from one of the trees as the sound of rushing water met her ears. The mighty river beside their new colony had lulled her to sleep many a night when her tears would not cease. It had been her only comfort as her parents snored on the other side of their hut, oblivious to her agony.

Always oblivious to her agony. Or perhaps they believed she deserved it. For the things she’d done.

“You should not venture so far away from camp,” Hayden offered as he plodded along beside her. “Thiago tells me there are wolves and jaguars in these jungles.”

“I was seeking fruit for our noon meal.”

“And yet you return empty-handed.” He smiled.

Magnolia huffed. “I couldn’t find any.” None she could reach, anyway. Besides, she was unaccustomed to work. Her family once owned the largest cotton plantation in Roswell. Her father even owned part of the famous Roswell Manufacturing Company—until the Yankees burned it to the ground. And he was also a member of the city council. She’d grown up with a bevy of slaves caring for her every whim. What did she know of menial work? She stared at the scrapes and mud marring what once had been white, silky skin on her hands and arms.

Hayden swept aside an oversized fern and gestured for her to proceed into the camp as if he were escorting her to a ball. Tightening her lips, she grabbed her skirts and brushed past him into the town of New Hope. Well, it wasn’t really a town. Not yet. It was just two rows of thatched huts of various sizes lining a wide sandy path. Nine buildings on the left, nine on the right, and three on the end that served as the clinic, town hall, and meeting shelter, complete with tables, chairs, and a large brick oven and fireplace. Not exactly the Southern utopia they’d hoped to build, but it was better than sleeping on the ground in a tent as they’d done when they’d first arrived on the shores of Brazil. In fact, they’d found these huts already built and filled with crude furniture—or rather, Hayden had found them—just a week after they entered the jungle, apparently abandoned by whoever had made them. James, their doctor turned preacher, had declared it a gift from God.

Magnolia was not so sure.

To the south of town, the river bubbled and gurgled as it made the two-mile journey down to the sea. Eventually, it would be their easiest means to transport their crops to the ocean where ships would then take them to market. That was, if they ever managed to work the tender soil and keep the encroaching jungle at bay long enough to bring the coffee and sugar to harvest.
And
if they built the cane press and mill they needed to process those crops with only twenty-eight men to do the work. Some of whom were unaccustomed to getting their hands dirty at all. They could have purchased slaves in Rio de Janeiro if Parson Bailey hadn’t absconded with all their money. Magnolia sighed, thinking of all the hardships they’d endured on the trip here and how many more were still to come.

If they didn’t make a success of the colony, they’d have to return home to the devastation of the war-torn South. Fine by her since she had a fiancé waiting for her, but most of the people had nothing to return to. Even worse, they faced persecution by the North.

As she headed down the path, women skittered about carrying pails of water and baskets of fruit. Sarah Jordan, the town’s teacher, lifted her gaze from where she knelt working in her vegetable garden and waved at Magnolia. The sound of hammers peppered the air as men reinforced the huts with cut branches and palm slats. Only temporary shelters, their leader Colonel Blake had said, until they could build proper homes. A luxury for which Magnolia’s father was not willing to wait.

“A Scott has never lived in a hut and never will live in a hut,” he had proclaimed with his usual aplomb.

Shielding her eyes, she peered into the distance beyond the town where Moses’s bronze back shimmered in the sun as he erected the frame of a large house. Her father had hired the ex-slave to build them a home “away from the riffraff of town.” How he intended to pay the man, Magnolia had no idea, since they hadn’t much money left to their name. But she had a feeling Moses was more than happy to do the work if it placed him closer to Mable, Magnolia’s personal slave. She had not missed the coy glances drifting between the two. Most unusual, for Magnolia had not assumed Negros capable of deep, abiding relationships.

But at least someone was enjoying their stay in this godforsaken place.

The home, however, was a sign her parents intended to stay. She never truly believed they would subject themselves to live like savages, but poverty did strange things to people. Poverty. She refused to accept that brand in life. If only she could return to Atlanta and marry Samuel, she’d never have to worry about money again.

Or bugs, or heat—her stomach growled—or hunger.

“You may go back to the fields now, Hayden.” She dismissed him with a wave, knowing full well both her tone and gesture would annoy him to distraction.

His subsequent groan—akin to an angry bear’s—brought a satisfied smirk to her lips.

“I’m not one of your slaves, Princess,” he said with more frustration than anger. “We are all equal here. There are no bluebloods who plant their soft bottoms in plush carriages and spew mud on all those they pass.”

Magnolia was about to kick some of that mud on his trousers when her mother’s shrill voice stiffened her.

“What in heaven’s name! Miss Magnolia Scott. You are covered in dirt.”

“I am?” Magnolia gazed at her gown in mock horror. “Oh, mercy me, however did that happen?” She smiled at Hayden, who winked at her before he excused himself and walked away.

Her father, following close on her mother’s heels, scrunched up his nose, scanned her from head to toe, and shook his head. “I realize we live in the jungle but that doesn’t mean we are to behave like wild beasts.”

Magnolia sighed. She started to tell him what happened—wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter what she looked like here in the middle of the jungle—but decided it was no use.

“Go wash that mud off and put on something presentable!”

“Yes, Papa,” Magnolia said numbly as she made her way down the street with one overpowering thought in mind. The sooner she left Brazil, the better.

C
HAPTER
2

M
agnolia poured fresh water into the basin, set the bucket down, and pressed a hand on her aching back. She couldn’t even carry water from the river without causing herself pain. She was completely useless. Back home on the plantation, she’d kept busy with her cotillions and soirees and calling on her friends for tea, keeping up with the latest gossip, and playing the coquette with the town’s eligible bachelors. But here in the Brazilian jungle, life was hard. Even though the sun was just peering over the horizon, most of the men had been up for an hour tilling the fields, chopping wood, and building a barn. The women were up as well, preparing breakfast, hauling water, and gathering fruit. No one was idle. Well, except Magnolia’s parents, who spent most of their day complaining of the heat and overseeing Moses as he built their new house. Magnolia so wanted to help the colony. She truly did. But she didn’t know how.

So, she came to the one place where she felt of any use at all. The clinic. Even the smells permeating the tiny hut—a mixture of pungent herbs and lye and beeswax—brought her a smidgeon of comfort.

“Good morning.” Eliza’s cheerful voice preceded the lady into the hut. “You’re up early, Magnolia.”The ex-war nurse and wife of the leader of the colony, Colonel Blake, never failed to have a positive outlook on life.

“I couldn’t sleep. My father snores.”

Eliza gave her a knowing glance. “Ah, yes, my husband made quite a racket last night as well.” Magnolia grinned. Pink blossomed on Eliza’s cheeks as she set down a bundle of clean cloths. “But, honestly, I couldn’t care if he sang Dixie all night at the top of his lungs, as long as he’s by my side.”

Now it was Magnolia’s turn to blush. Yet her heart grew heavy at the same time. Would anyone ever love her like that? Had Samuel, her fiancé? Obviously not or he would have sought her out after the war—would have come to Brazil looking for her by now, begging her to return. “Marriage becomes you, Eliza. You are fortunate to have such a wonderful man love you so much.”

“God has been good to me.” Eliza began folding the cloths, but her beaming smile began to fade. “My first marriage was different. Stanton was a beast. Cruel and heartless. And selfish.” She shot a somber glance at Magnolia. “It’s so important, Magnolia, whom you choose to marry. And sometimes, it’s the least likely person you would ever consider.”

Magnolia knew she spoke about the troubles that had almost kept Eliza and the colonel apart. In fact, it was a miracle they’d been able to overcome the obstacles and marry at all. Moving toward the cupboard, Magnolia grabbed a damp cloth to wipe down the examining table in preparation for their first patient. Had Samuel been the least likely person for Magnolia to marry? No, he had been the most likely. Young, handsome, wealthy, from a prominent family, educated, and on the path to success, who else would be more suited to become her husband? He was the perfect choice.

“You should never choose a husband based on a list of requirements,” Eliza continued as if she read Magnolia’s mind. “Only God knows the man for you.”

A breeze blew in and rustled the loose strands of Eliza’s brown hair. The woman never seemed able to keep her coiffure pinned up properly. Magnolia patted her own bun and dangling curls, ensuring all was in place as she pondered the woman’s words. Samuel would make a great husband. She would never have to worry about money again, and if his political aspirations succeeded, he would usher her upward through society’s ranks. Of course she loved him. Who wouldn’t love a man like that?

By the time their first patient arrived, a myriad of birds, kissed awake by the sun’s ascent, began their orchestra outside the tiny hut, adding a cheerful tone to the morning. Sarah, A war widow and the colony’s teacher, entered the hut, greeted them both, and laid her baby, Lydia, nearly four months old now, on the examining table. Magnolia kept the child busy by making funny faces while Eliza examined her, pressing her abdomen, looking in her mouth, nose, and ears, listening to her heart and lungs with the stethoscope and asking Sarah dozens of questions.

“You’re good with children, Magnolia,” Sarah said after the examination was complete. “You should help me out in the school.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly.” Magnolia shook her head. “Truly, I don’t care for children at all.” She leaned over and blubbered her lips at Lydia, making the baby giggle. “But I make an exception for your sweet girl.”

Eliza washed her hands. “Do you never wish to have children of your own, Magnolia?”

Magnolia ran a hand over her tiny waist that had been the envy of all of Roswell, maybe even all of Georgia. “And ruin this figure?” She laughed.

“There are some things more important than a good figure.” Sarah’s smile softened the censure in her blue eyes. Magnolia bit down her retort. Though a lovely lady and pleasant in all respects, Sarah was no raving beauty. How could she possibly understand losing the only thing that made Magnolia stand above the other ladies in her class?

“Is that why you still wear your crinoline? And all those petticoats?” Eliza asked while Sarah dressed little Lydia. “Most of the women have given up on such cumbersome underthings in this insipid heat.”

“My father forbids it. It isn’t proper. a lady should dress like a lady wherever she is.”

Sarah hoisted Lydia in her arms. “I believe we should always be modest and look our best, but I also believe in comfort. Most of the women in Rio de Janeiro didn’t wear these contraptions.”

Most of the
commoners
, she meant. But Magnolia wouldn’t say such a thing. She also wouldn’t tell them that just because they were in a savage country that didn’t mean they had to dress like savages. Mercy me, that thought sounded so much like her father, it caused her stomach to sour.

Several more patients came in with minor complaints: a cut, a sore back, indigestion, and a rash. Magnolia did her best to assist Eliza while trying to learn as much as she could about tending the sick and wounded. She would never tell her father, but she found the profession fascinating and enjoyed the rewards of healing those in need.