Elusive Hope (42 page)

Magnolia didn’t miss the use of her pet name, the one he used to call her when she was young and still in his favor. Nor did she miss the slight catch in his throat. For a moment, a brief, happy moment, he had looked at her like he used to before Patrick came into their lives. She swallowed down a burst of emotion. Perhaps things could be mended between her and her father. Perhaps he loved her just a little. She’d already made up her mind to return home anyway. Even if Hayden left, Patrick would still be here, and she couldn’t stand to be in the same town with that man.

She glanced at the letter in her hand. She had loved Samuel once, hadn’t she?

“What if Patrick finds gold?” she asked her father.

“Then he can send it to us. I’m sure Blake will see to it.” She’d never seen her father’s expression so soft, so placating. How quickly the power had shifted between them.

With or without the gold, if she married Samuel, her debt to her parents would be paid. And the idea of sleeping in a proper feather bed, of having steaming sudsy baths, a wardrobe full of the latest fashions, and a bevy of servants to wait on her every need was not without some appeal. No bugs. No thirst. No excruciating heat. She looked at her hands, once soft and white, now bruised and scraped. No mud. No hard work.

No purpose. No fulfillment. No love.

“Darling.” Her mother tucked a strand of hair into her bun. “We must get you married before the bloom of youth is gone. Or it will be too late.”

The bloom of youth, the bloom of youth
, the words chanted over and over in Magnolia’s mind as she strolled through a field of spring flowers, brushing her fingers over their colorful petals. Aquamarine, purple, gold, vermillion, amber, crimson—a thousand shades like dots of paint swaying on a canvas of green. A gentle breeze refreshed her skin and fluttered the delicate curls at her neck. She closed her eyes and breathed in the perfume-scented air. Sunlight blanketed her in warmth. Was there ever a more beautiful sight? Clutching her skirts, she ran across the field, dancing and laughing as the soft blooms tickled her stockings. Near breathless with glee, she stopped to pick one particularly beautiful blossom and drew it to her nose. A mixture of lilac and vanilla delighted her senses as she examined the crimson and orange petals, admiring their beauty and their silky feel.

The bloom of youth
.

The flower began to shrivel in her hand. The petals browned and curled inward, then wilted into parched folds, drooping from the stem. Tossing down the blossom, Magnolia mourned the loss of such beauty when suddenly all the flowers around her began to brown and wilt and shrivel into dry, wrinkled twigs. Within minutes, the field became a crackling desert.

A chilled wind whipped the hem of her gown and blew the dried flowers away as if they’d never existed. Leaving nothing but gray, cracked ground. Leaving Magnolia all alone. In a dry and barren place. An ugly place. A tear slipped down her cheek.

A white speck appeared in the distance, gliding toward her. A person. A lady. The lady Magnolia had met in the church in Rio. The beautiful version with her glittering white robe, shimmering golden hair, and a face that would put Helen of Troy to shame. Halting before Magnolia, she smiled.

“Favour is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a woman that feareth The Lord, she shall be praised.” Each word was as crisp and resonant as the plucking of a harp string.

“What does that mean?” Magnolia asked. “What happened to the flowers?”

“For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.”

The woman smiled again and Magnolia smiled back, sensing only kindness, not judgment in her peaceful expression.

“Why are you telling me this?”

She raised a small mirror to Magnolia’s face.

Magnolia turned her head. “I don’t want to see.”

“You must, child. You must.” Grabbing Magnolia’s chin she forced her to look at the hideous, wrinkled reflection. “This is—”

“I know. I know. This is my true appearance. What’s inside of me.” Magnolia squeezed her eyes shut against the sight and began to sob.

“Look again, child.”

Magnolia shook her head. “No. Take it away.”

“Look again.”

Slowly prying her eyes open, Magnolia noticed the woman had flipped the mirror around to the other side. Beauty, pure beauty like she’d never seen before, stared back at her. The woman in the mirror glowed. She sparkled like a diamond, her skin luminescent, her hair spun silk, her eyes pools of glittering sapphires.

She couldn’t pull her gaze away. “Who is she?”

“This is how God sees you when you turn to Him. When you accept the sacrifice of His Son, Jesus, you are cleansed, purified. You become His beautiful princess. Man looks on the outward appearance, but God looks at the heart.”

Magnolia woke with a start, the lady’s words echoing in her mind.
God looks on the heart. God looks on the heart
. A dream. A bizarre dream. Glancing to make sure she hadn’t woken Sarah and Lydia, she swung her legs over the cot and rubbed her eyes.

Hadn’t she discovered recently that she was more than a beautiful face? That she had value beyond her appearance. Besides, she was no fool. She knew her outward appearance would fade one day, that the bloom of youth would shrivel as her mother had said. And if Magnolia focused only on that, spent her time perfecting only that, what would be left when it was gone? Wasn’t her soul, her character, more important? More lasting? Something that would never wrinkle or fade or die? But would only become more beautiful?

She’d once thought Patrick handsome but now that his true heart was revealed, she found him repulsive. And what of Sarah? She was no beauty and yet, she was the sweetest woman Magnolia had ever known, and more beautiful for it. Magnolia’s heart shrank as she wondered how people truly saw her.

All these years her father, and oft times her many suitors as well, had spoken only of her appearance: complimenting, commending only her outside. Seeing her beauty as her only value. Making her believe she had no other redeeming qualities.

Rising, she grabbed her flask and tiptoed out of the hut, plopping on the bench.

“Oh, Jesus. I’ve been so wrong. About You. About myself.”

She sipped the pinga and gazed up at the few stars peeking at her through the leaves above. “Do you truly see me as beautiful as I was in that second reflection?”

Wind stirred leaves by her feet into an exotic dance that tickled her legs. She giggled. “Is that You, God?”

“P
RECIOUS
ONE
. B
EAUTIFUL
ONE
.”

Falling to her knees, Magnolia couldn’t help the tears that streamed down her face. She tipped the flask to her lips again when the words “Y
OU
DON’T
NEED
THAT
ANYMORE
” flowed like warm water over her soul. Corking the flask, she set it on the ground and bowed her head.

“All this time I never spoke to You unless I wanted something. I never thought You cared. What a waste.” She wiped her moist cheeks. “I’m sorry for being such a spoiled, vain, selfish girl. I don’t want to be that way anymore. I want to be beautiful on the inside, not just the outside.”

A whippoorwill sang in the distance as a sensation filtered through her. She had always been loved, regardless of what she looked like or what she’d done or what she would ever do. God’s love was a gift that carried no conditions, no prerequisites, no debt. And even before she’d been born, He knew her. He’d fashioned her in her mother’s womb as Eliza had said: special, unique, beautiful, and valuable.

And for the first time in her life, she felt all of those things as God’s presence enveloped her.

C
HAPTER
35

S
o you’re going to let her get on that ship and sail out of your life?” Blake asked.

Hayden rubbed his aching eyes and stared at his two friends who had barged into his hut before the sun even had a chance to rise.

“You tell us you gave your life to God, forgave your father, released your need for revenge, which I’m very happy to hear, by the way”—James crossed beefy arms over his chest—“and now you’re going to lose the woman God gave you to love. Just because of your foolish pride.”

Hayden suddenly regretted telling Blake and James about his encounter with the Almighty. He wouldn’t have even mentioned it if they hadn’t insisted on knowing why he’d changed his mind about seeking revenge on his father and had decided to leave.

“Besides, if you’re planning on going back to the States anyway, why not sail with Captain Barclay instead of walking to Rio?” Candlelight flickered mischief in James’s eyes. “Not that I want you to leave. Not that I want either of you to leave. But if you’re on the same ship with

Magnolia, at least there’s more of a chance you’ll come to your senses.”

“Or do something I’ll regret the rest of my life.”

“Like marry the lady? Why would that be so bad?”

“You don’t understand.” Hayden flung his shirt over his head and tucked it into his trousers. He’d hoped to sneak away that morning without anyone seeing. He’d said his good-byes to those that mattered the night before, painful enough as
that
was. More painful than he’d ever thought leaving people could be. Afterward, he’d had a fitful night of staring at the bamboo and palm fronds over his head, listening to the hoot of a nearby owl and the distant growls of jungle predators. A night of waiting for the first glow of dawn to give him permission to rise and slip away. But his friends had cornered him before he’d had a chance.

“I understand more than you think.” The lines in Blake’s forehead deepened as they always did when he was concerned.

Hayden studied him. Perhaps the colonel did know about revenge and forgiveness and the love of a decent woman. But his life had turned out well. His hopes had been realized. Hayden’s hopes never would be. A breeze whipped through the window, ripe with the scent of orange blossoms and rain.

“She’s leaving because she doesn’t think you want her,” James said.

Sitting on his cot, Hayden pulled on his boots. “She’s leaving because she will finally get to marry her rich solicitor like she’s always wanted.” The news had carved a hole in his heart while at the same time giving him the peace of knowing she’d finally be happy.

Blake marched to the window, fists at his waist. “What other choice have you given her?”

“She could stay with the colony. Work in the clinic.” Even as he said it, Hayden remembered how determined she was to repay her debt to her parents. Another reason to marry this Wimby fellow. He ran his hands through his hair and grabbed his only possession, his knapsack containing his knife, pistol, canteen, and the few supplies he’d purchased in Rio.

James released a heavy sigh and rubbed the scar on his cheek. “You could stay with the colony too. Why run away if she is gone?”

“You seem to forget my father is still here.”

“If what you say about him is true, he won’t be here for long.”

Indeed. The man would either find his gold and leave or give up and move on to the next conquest. Regardless, even if his father left, New Hope was too full of memories. Hayden would see Magnolia’s face everywhere he turned, catch glimpses of her flaxen hair among the leaves, picture those sapphire eyes staring at him from across the fire. No. He couldn’t do it. Better to have a clean break, get far away from any reminders. Of her and his father.

“Look, I appreciate what you both are doing.”No one had ever cared enough for him to look out for his best interests. The thought brought a burning sensation to his throat. He swallowed it down and glanced out the window. He would truly miss his friends. “But I must go.”

Blake spun around to face him. “Do you love her?”

He wanted to say no. That she was just a passing fancy like so many other women in his life. But Magnolia was so much more than that. She was all spark and spunk and wit and courage, tenacity, kindness, and goodness. Besides, his newfound faith forbade him to lie. “More than anything.”

“Then go to her, man,” Blake said.

Hayden hung his head and stared at the packed dirt that made up the floor of his hut. “She was with my father. I cannot shake it from my mind. I don’t think I ever can.”

James gripped his shoulder. “Then you must ask God for help.”

Blake nodded his agreement. “I understand what you are suffering. I thought I could never look at Eliza without remembering what her husband did to my brother. But God can heal all those memories, all those wounds. Like James said, you have but to ask.”

“At least say good-bye to her.” James raised a brow. “She inquired about you this morning, before she and her parents followed Barclay to the coast, wondering if you were awake.”

“I’ve never seen a woman so distraught,” Blake added. “Her parents had to drag her away sobbing. Doesn’t seem like a lady happy about her upcoming nuptials, if you ask me.”

“Sobbing?” Hayden shifted his boots over the dirt. Why was she sobbing? All she’d talked about during the entire trip to Rio was Samuel this and Samuel that. Could she really be that upset about leaving New Hope? About leaving Hayden?