Abandoned Memories (12 page)

HAPTER
10

W
hat do you want, Dodd?” Though the barrel of the gun quivered in Angeline’s hand, she kept it leveled at the vile ex-lawman.

He strutted toward her, his grin reminding her of Stowy after he caught a mouse—pleased with himself and very, very hungry. A hungry gaze that now lowered to her unbuttoned shirt. Taking a step back, she determined to shoot the man if he came any closer.

“You have a bad habit of spying on women at their bath, sir,” she spat.

He clipped thumbs in his belt and eyed her. “I meant no offense, I merely came to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” She gestured toward the jungle with her gun. “Now, leave.”

“Ah, but you had plenty to say to me that night at the Night Owl.”

Angeline’s heart plummeted. She wanted to say she knew of no place by that name. She wanted to call him mad. But they both knew she’d be lying.

He grinned. “I see you understand me quite well, my dear.”

“I am not your dear, and I don’t understand at all. Who cares if you remember me from some tavern?” She lifted one shoulder. “What is that to me?”

“Nothing to you, I’m sure. But everything to your doctor beau. You
have
noticed how he abhors immoral women? Why, he talks about it all the time—how he wants to keep our new town free of such vices as harlotry and the like.”

Nausea bubbled in her stomach. Of course she’d noticed. It was all she’d thought about the last month as she and James had grown closer. “Well, it’s a good thing there aren’t any harlots here.”

He raised a taunting brow. “Aren’t there?”

She lowered the gun, all hope lowering with it. “I knew you recognized me. You knew the minute we boarded the ship that brought us here, am I right?”

He circled her, assessing her as a panther would a rabbit. “Who could forget such a face?” He halted in front of her. “Or such a figure.”

A lizard skittered up a tree behind him, the perfect example of the man before her. Slimy, slick, and sneaky. “Then why wait until now to say something?”

He cocked his head. “Because, my dear, I knew you would never come to me of your own will, so we could…how shall I say?”—he tapped his chin—“Become reacquainted?”

A hiss followed by a growl drew her gaze to Stowy, who glared at Dodd from his perch on a rock. Even her cat could spot a bad seed. “I wish no reacquaintance with you.”

“Was our one night so terrible?” He ran a finger down her cheek. “Your moans of pleasure still ring in my ears.”

“Moans of disgust, you mean.” She jerked from his touch and snapped angry eyes his way. “Yet men like you always think them from delight.”

A slight tic appeared at the corner of his lips. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, she thought he might strike her. But then he thrust a finger in the air as if testing the wind. “But since you brought up the topic of pleasure, that is the reason I’m here.”

The sun dipped below the trees, hiding its warmth and light from the hideous scene.

Stowy circled the hem of her skirts.

“I am a lonely man.”

“That does not surprise me.” Scooping up her cat, she stormed past him, but he clamped her arm. Tight. She winced.

He spun her around. “Then we will be lonely together, for once the good preacher hears about your prior profession, I do believe he’ll have nothing more to do with you.”

Though Angeline had known the threat was coming, hearing it out loud sent such a wave of agony through her, she nearly crumbled to the ground. Would have crumbled to the ground if the beast weren’t still gripping her arm. She tore away from him, her breath coming hard and fast.

“Why? Why are you doing this now?” When she’d fallen in love. When she finally had a chance at happiness.

Blue eyes sparked with mischief. “Because now you have a reason to do as I say, my dear. Before James showered you with attention, you may have been willing to have your reputation besmirched. But not now. Not when you have everything to lose.”

Everything to lose
. Yet, hadn’t she lost it all the second Dodd had set foot on the ship? Or was it the second her uncle forced himself on her all those years ago? Perhaps she never really had any chance of happiness at all. Tears flooded her eyes, and she lowered her chin.

“Come now.” Dodd approached and leaned to peer up at her. “It won’t be so bad. You will come to me in the night. Once or twice a week will suffice. I’m not greedy. And during the day you may carry on your callow dalliance with the doctor or preacher or whatever he is. You see, unlike your pretentious preacher, I am willing to share. What you see in the man is beyond me.”

Anger dried her tears, and she lifted her head. “He’s everything you are not.”

“Yet I will have
you
in my bed while he carries on like a sheep-headed minion.” He smiled. “What do you say to that?”

She stared at him, knowing she had no cards to play. No choice but to obey. Just like she’d had no choice in what she’d become. Dodd absorbed her with his gaze again, and the thought of him touching her sent a foul taste creeping into her mouth.

“Cat got your tongue?” He chuckled, reaching to pet Stowy, but the cat hissed at him again. Frowning, he withdrew his hand. “Well, you best get your voice back, my dear, because I’ll expect your answer in two weeks. Yes, yes, I’m not completely without compassion. I will grant you some time to consider your options. Enough time to realize you have none.”

And with that, he kissed her on the cheek before she could stop him then turned and strutted away, whistling a discordant tune.

Clutching her skirts, Angeline made her way to the water’s edge and dropped to the ground. Groping for the rag through blurry vision, she found it and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed her cheek until her skin was raw and stinging and her tears fell in a puddle on the sand. She’d been wrong. So completely wrong. It was impossible to escape her past, to put her memories behind her. She would always be what she had become. Her dream was shattered—her new life abandoned.

Angeline was not at supper. After James had frantically searched for her, Sarah informed him that she wasn’t feeling well and had retired early. Though desperate to see her and concerned for her health, he forced himself to stay away from her hut and instead barely touched his meal of papayas, beans, and fish, while the rest of the colonists chatted idly around him. And why, in the name of all that was holy, was Dodd staring at him with that impish grin on his face? Continually staring and smiling like the blunderhead he was.

Rising, James handed his plate to Mr. Lewis, whose appetite for food matched his lust for liquor. He took it with an appreciative nod as James grabbed the torch he’d prepared to take on his journey to the shore—he and Angeline’s journey—and dipped it in the fire. He’d even left the fields early to assemble logs on the beach so they would have a fire to sit around while he asked if he could court her. Perhaps he was just a foolish romantic, but he wanted everything to be perfect. Perfect for the perfect lady.

Shoving aside leaves, he plunged into the jungle, seeking some time alone to nurse his disappointment. Which was silly. The woman couldn’t help feeling ill. He only hoped—no, prayed—it wasn’t anything serious.
Lord, please take care of her. I intend to make her my wife with Your permission
. No sooner had he lifted the silent prayer than he realized he hadn’t been very diligent in praying recently. Nor had he asked God’s blessing to court Angeline. There’d been so much to do after the ants destroyed everything. Parts of the fields had to be re-plowed and replanted, the sugar splints tended to, huts repaired, the mill rebuilt from the fire, as well as their normal tasks of digging irrigation ditches and foraging for food. Plus James had been spending so much time with Angeline. An unavoidable smile lifted his lips as he thought of those precious moments. Still, that was no excuse to ignore God. He was the preacher, for heaven’s sake! Was he destined to fail at it all over again? Just like he’d done with his father. Like he’d done with that woman who had destroyed him. He marched ahead, plowing through a curtain of vines, hoping he hadn’t been showered with spiders or beetles or other insects. Insects that now buzzed in their nighttime chorus.

A growl echoed through the trees. Distant but ominous, it caused the hair on James’s arms to prickle. Yet it was the sound that followed that made his stomach twist in a knot. Crackling like a fire but not coming from his torch. He knew that sound all too well. He swerved the flame through the darkness, the blaze flaring like the tail of a comet. The crackling increased. A figure—all smoke and mist—emerged from the leaves. James stood his ground, heart beating through his chest.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

The figure took form and shape and stepped into the light. Skirts of violet poplin floated over the ground, festooned with pink velvet bows. Satin embroidery drew his gaze to the creamy skin bursting from her low neckline, where her hair, the color of pearls, dangled in lustrous spirals. Eyes as green as the jungle around them looked at him with longing.
Tabitha
. Blood rushed through his veins and began to curdle in his mind. She smiled. He took a step back and blinked, trying to erase her from view. Still she remained, cocked her head.

“Don’t you remember me?” she said in that honey-sweet drawl that had once sounded like music to his ears.

Of course he remembered her. She was the woman who had ruined his life. “You’re not here.”

An adorable pout appeared on her lips. “Why, what a horrid thing to say, dear James. After all we’ve meant to one another.”

James knew she was a vision—from one of the fallen angelic beasts. She had to be. But she looked so real. Her skin was as sparkling and luminescent as he remembered. Her lips plump and moist. Her curves in all the right places. It was the sight of those curves and the peek she’d given him when she leaned forward in the front pew of his church that had become his demise. Week after week. Sunday after Sunday. The way she stared at him as he preached from the pulpit, the way she eased her tongue over her lips, the desire in her eyes, every movement a dance of seduction that had driven him mad.

“We meant naught to each other,” he said, though he wondered why he spoke to a vision. “You seduced me.”

“Did I now? Or was it
you
who drew me into your lair?” She stepped toward him, the rustle of her skirts joining the buzz of insects. “And what a lion you were.” Her tone dripped with desire as she looked him up and down.

Shame seared his belly and rose up his neck at the memories: the clandestine rendezvous, the long nights of passion. The way he felt nauseous with guilt the next day. The lies. The deception. Her irresistible pull on him again and again. Even now, even as an illusion, she stirred his body to life.

He rubbed the scar beside his mouth—the one her husband had put there. “You’re a wicked woman. Nothing but a pig with a gold ring in her snout who lures men to destruction!” he quoted from the Bible. Proverbs, in fact, had much to say about loose women.

Feigning a look of pain, she sighed and twirled a lock of her hair. “You came of your own free will, if I recall.”

Tearing his gaze from her, James stormed through a tangle of leaves and headed back toward town.

“You have another woman now, don’t you?” Her voice trailed him. “You think she is better than me? You are a bigger fool than ever, James Callaway!” The sound of her laughter bounced off trunks and leaves and rang in his ears all the way back to camp. All the way to his hut, to his cot, where he plopped to sit and dropped his head in his hands. Reaching beneath his bed, he pulled out a small chest, opened it, and brought a Bible to his lap. His father’s Bible. He breathed in the smell of it—leather and fire smoke and aged vellum—and pictured his dad sitting in his favorite high-back chair by the fireplace in their home, reading the words on each page over and over as if they were precious.

“This is yours now, son.” The hands, strong yet veined with age, handed the book to James. “Read it every day. Memorize its words and they will bring you life. Abundant life!”

James could have died happy right there for the look of pride in his father’s eyes, instead of the usual disappointment ever since James had forsaken the church and run off to become a doctor. To make matters worse, during his long absence at war, his mother had died of heartbreak. And fear. Fear that she’d never see her son again. But James
had
returned, like the prodigal coming to his senses, and now he would take over the pastorate of his father’s church—the Second Baptist Church in Knoxville, Tennessee.

Rain tapped on the thatched roof, jarring him back to the present. Clutching the Bible to his chest, he blinked back the tears burning his eyes. Tabitha had tricked him and led him astray. And now his father was dead. “I’m so sorry, Father. I failed you. I failed you in the worst possible way.”

HAPTER
11

W
hy won’t you look at me?” James asked Angeline as she hovered over the brick oven beneath the thatched roof of the meeting shelter.