Elusive Hope (6 page)

Something buzzed by her ear. “Oh, shoo!” She batted it away, hoping the insect wouldn’t get caught in her hair. The hair Mable had spent nearly an hour curling and pinning before supper. Just to please Magnolia’s father.

Moonlight penetrated the canopy in a clearing up ahead and sparkled over a rippling creek. The scene appeared so serene, it was hard to believe there were dangers in the jungle like the jaguars and wolves Hayden had told her about. Over her shoulder, she could still see the lights of New Hope through the foliage. Perhaps it would be safe enough to sit for a while and clear her thoughts.

Gathering her skirts and adjusting her crinoline, she lowered onto a flat boulder, allowing her billowing gown to settle around her. Moonlight transformed the tiny creek into silvery braids that rose in a mist of fairy dust across the clearing. The beautiful sight did much to calm her spirits. But she had something else that would help even more. After one last glance at the camp, she withdrew a flask from the secret pocket she’d sewn in her petticoat, uncorked it, and took a long draught of the port she’d stolen from her father. The smooth, tawny liquid eased down her throat, unwinding her tight nerves with each warm embrace. She drew in a deep breath of the moist jungle air, fragrant with passion flowers, and tried to forget her father’s reprimand for the slouching manner in which she sat. “So unlike a lady,” he had said.

Another sip of port and the disappointment blaring in his tone began to fade. Her shoulders lowered, and the rod that held up her spine melted. Leaning over, she untied her ankle boots and kicked them off, not caring if her stockings became soiled. Hiking up her skirts, she wiggled her toes, took another sip, and giggled as she dipped them, stockings and all, in the cool water. If her father could see her now.

A crackling sound joined the nightly hum of the jungle. Low at first, gentle like the hiss of a dying fire. But then it grew in intensity and sharpness. Magnolia sat up and scanned the foliage but the oscillating shadows of dark and gray revealed nothing. No fire. No torch. “Hello?” The crackling stopped.

Shaking her head, she took another sip. It was almost gone. And the way her father kept track of his precious liquor, she doubted she’d be able to steal more any time soon. At least not enough to benumb her mind and heart against her horrid circumstances. Not enough to make it bearable to rise each morning and face the heat and insects and back-breaking labor. Or at least her attempt at labor. No, she would have to find another source of liquor. Mr. Lewis, the old carpenter, seemed to have an unending supply. Perhaps she could cajole him into sharing.

The crackling began again. Or was it simply the wind quivering the leaves? But, there
was
no wind. At least not enough to cool her skin. Perspiration moistened her forehead and neck, and she leaned toward the creek to splash water on her face when she caught her reflection.

Moonlight silhouetted curls the color of the morning sun that fell from her chignon about her shoulders. Only one errant strand was out of place in an otherwise perfect coiffeur. Oval eyes that were almost catlike in shape reflected blue from the silvery water. High cheekbones, a refined chin, a small perfectly shaped nose, and rosy lips completed the visage that had brought so many gentlemen to their knees. One of whom had destroyed her family. And another whose suit she would have accepted—whose family and reputation could have restored her own family’s name—if only her parents had not dragged her off to Brazil.

If her father hadn’t been so proud and stubborn and allowed them to wed before the war, they’d all be sitting in a comfortable parlor in Atlanta sipping tea from china cups instead of drinking river water from pewter mugs.

As if reading her thoughts, the crackling turned to laughter, soft, malicious laughter. Magnolia corked her flask and put it away. No more port for now. She was starting to hear things. A shadow slithered through the greenery. And apparently see things, as well. “Hello?”

A growl rumbled through the trees. Close, but yet, not close. Magnolia froze. Her heart thundered in her chest. Her fingers grew numb. She scanned the forest, afraid to move. Something flickered in the water. Leaning over, she gazed at her reflection again.

Her beautiful golden hair began to shrivel. Like old twine left too long in the sun, it shrank and grew brittle until, strand by strand, it slid off her head, landed on the water, and floated away. Leaving her bald. Completely bald!

Flinging her hands to her head, she did the only thing she could think to do. She screamed at the top of her lungs.

Hayden was the first one to burst into the clearing, James and Colonel Blake on his heels. What he expected to see—what his worst fears imagined—was Magnolia being mauled by some wild animal. What he saw instead was the lady gripping her head and screaming,“My hair! My hair!” After scanning the clearing for a wolf, he dashed toward her, forced her hands to her sides, and led her into the moonlight to see if she’d been bitten or injured. But aside from her hair being hopelessly torn from its pins, she seemed unscathed.

Yet her eyes told a different story. They were wide and etched with fear. No, not fear—absolute, excruciating horror. They searched his as if looking for an answer. “My hair,” she sobbed.

“Your hair? What about it?” Hayden wondered if she’d either gone mad or—he dipped his nose toward her mouth—had too much to drink. Obviously the latter due to the pungent scent of alcohol hovering around her. Angry, he released her.

“What happened? Are you all right?” James approached and drew her into an embrace. She fell against him and started to cry. Of course she did. Hayden couldn’t believe he’d been so gullible. That was exactly what she wanted—attention.

And everyone fell for it. Blake, pistol in hand, surveyed the edge of the clearing, while Eliza rushed to Magnolia and took James’s place by her side.

“My hair,” Magnolia whined.

“What about your hair, dearest?” Eliza brushed a lock from Magnolia’s face.

“Don’t coddle her. Nothing happened.” Hayden huffed as James circled the camp, examining bushes and sweeping aside leaves.

“It was gone. All gone.” Magnolia’s gaze shot to the small creek. “When I looked at my reflection”—she drew in a shredded breath—“my hair fell out. I was bald!” she whimpered, tears spilling from her eyes. “I was completely bald.”

“Well, you aren’t bald now.” Eliza held one of Magnolia’s long strands in front of her. After touching it, Magnolia released a shuddering sigh.

“Nothing here.” Blake joined them.

“No animal tracks at all,” James added.

“But the crackling.” Magnolia stared into the jungle, wiping her face. “The voices. Did you hear them?”

Blake’s gaze snapped to Magnolia.

“No. We didn’t hear anything,” Elisa said.

Hayden rubbed his eyes, angry that this woman’s insecurity and propensity to drink caused so much unnecessary trouble. Yet hadn’t he heard crackling at the temple right before Katherine Henley appeared? How strange that Magnolia heard the same sound before seeing something that wasn’t there. But no, it was only Hayden’s guilt and Magnolia’s insecurity that caused these illusions. Nothing more. Then why did Blake continue to stare at Magnolia as if her ramblings made sense?

“Let’s get back to camp, shall we?” he finally said.

Hayden agreed. He’d left a half-eaten supper he intended to finish. They all started back when Magnolia halted, tugged from Eliza’s grip, and darted back toward the creek mumbling something about shoes.

“I’ll watch over her,” Hayden offered. No sense in the foolish girl keeping them all from their food. With a nod, Eliza looped her arm through her husband’s as they joined James on his way back to camp.

“Where are my shoes?” Magnolia pointed toward the sand. “They were right there.”

“Drop the charade, Princess. Everyone is gone, and I’m not buying it.”

“Not buying wha—” She spun to face him with what looked like real tears in her eyes. Hayden grinned. Ah, yes. She was good. He’d give her that. But she had no idea who she was dealing with.

Those eyes turned to glaciers as she planted hands on her hips. “You think I’m lying? You think I made up the crackling sound and the baldness. Why would I do that?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “For attention. Or because you’ve had too much to drink.”

“I’m not drunk.” She stomped her foot. “I know what I saw.” She gazed down at the mud dripping from the hem of her gown and groaned. “And I don’t care what you think. Where are my parents? Didn’t they hear me scream?” Her gaze darted toward the camp.

So that was it. She’d staged this to test her parents’ love for her. But Hayden knew they weren’t coming. Her father had risen from his seat, seen Hayden and the others speeding by, and then sat back down to finish his meal. Did he not care for his daughter at all or was he so accustomed to allowing others to do his work, that he left the safety of his own family in their hands?

Poor girl. A wave of sympathy flooded him as a breeze swept the ivory tips of her loose hair across her waist. Standing there—silent—a look of innocence and desperation on her face, she looked like a sad forest sprite, all glitter and beauty. And something within Hayden stirred.

She swung her gaze to his and huffed, breaking the spell. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to kiss me again.”

“Again?” he toyed with her.

Her lips drew tight. “I know you remember.” He caught a glimpse of her glassy eyes in the moonlight before she turned and began stomping back to camp, mumbling, “Incorrigible man.”

But she was right about one thing.

He did want to kiss her.

C
HAPTER
6

L
eave?” Blake looked up from his desk in the large hut that served as New Hope’s town hall, looking more like the army colonel he used to be, rather than the leader of a meager colony in Brazil. A stack of papers, a gold pocket watch, a set of quill pens and ink, a tilting pile of books, and a telescope from the ship spread across the top in a haphazard manner that was at odds with the colonel’s regimented style. Setting down his pen, Blake sighed as he eyed the ledger he’d been writing in then leaned back in his chair.

Hayden didn’t envy the task of keeping accounts for the colony. Though he’d always been good at making money, he’d never been good at managing it properly. Or holding on to it.

Shifting his boots over the tamped dirt floor, he drew a deep breath of sweat, coffee, and gunpowder. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. So instead of facing Blake, he glanced over the shelves housing their dwindling supplies: sacks of rice, beans, flour, coffee, and dried beef. Extra shovels, picks, axes, and rakes were propped against the wall, ready to be moved to the barn when it was built. Lanterns and candles lined shelves behind Hayden, along with whale oil, extra canvas, and tar. Finally, he faced forward and glanced at James, who sat on a chair beside Blake’s desk. Rays from the setting sun floated in through the window and hallowed his body in gold, making him look like the preacher he claimed to be.

Angling his shoulders, Hayden stretched his back and gazed at his two friends. Though their skin was tanned a golden brown from hours in the sun, and dirt smudged their tattered clothes, both looked more robust and healthy than when he’d first met them on board the ship over four months ago. He wondered if the same were true for himself, for he’d never felt better, except for the sorrow welling in his gut at the thought of leaving them. His friends. He’d never really had friends before.

James stood. “You can’t be serious. We are going to plant within the week. You’ve put so much work into this town.”

Hayden stared at the ground. “It cannot be helped. I belong in a city, not a jungle,” he lied. Truthfully, he had loved his time here in Brazil, away from the filth and crime that always encroached where large groups of humans inhabited, here out in the fresh air, perfumed with the sweet smells of the jungle,where fruit was plentiful and life was simple. Where everyone worked together—well, almost everyone—to build a new world. Where, for the first time in his life, he had put in a hard day’s work and been rewarded for it. With muscle aches, yes. But aches he was proud of. Aches that came from honest work. Aches that caused a twinge of something foreign inside him, something he’d never expected to feel—self-respect. Not only that, but he had earned the respect of the two men who stood before him—men who wouldn’t have given him a moment of their time back in the States. And that had been worth all the money he’d ever swindled.

But he couldn’t stay. He had a man to find. A debt to pay. He’d promised his mother on her death bed.

Blake hobbled around the desk. His uneven gait from an old war wound did nothing to detract from his commanding presence, nor from the frustration masking his face. “I realize you were a stowaway on this journey, but you have fit in with the colony so nicely. You’re a hard worker and an honorable man.”

Hayden stifled the chuckle in his throat.

“And I’ve come to depend on you,” Blake continued. “We all have.”