Elusive Hope (23 page)

A breeze snaked an eerie whistle through the alleyway, flapping Hayden’s dark hair across his collar. He shook his head and snorted. “Your pardon, Princess, if I no longer believe you. Besides, you’re coming back to New Hope with me.”

“What?” Magnolia screeched.“I will do no such thing!”She backed away. “I didn’t come all this way, suffer all I have, to return to that barbaric place. Give me back my money this instant!” She gestured toward his pocket.

“Your money?” He snorted. “You mean my payment for escorting you to Rio.” He grumbled out a curse. “Or at least my partial payment.”

“The bargain was to buy my passage home and the rest would be yours.”

“The rest of ”—he glanced at the pennies strewn across the ground, his voice coming out strangled—“nothing is nothing!” Growling, he raked a hand through his hair, took up a pace, then stopped and collected himself. “Besides, it’s not safe for you to travel alone. You’ll be ravished or robbed. Or both.”

Steam rose up Magnolia’s back. Hot, furious steam.“I have nothing for anyone to steal.”

“Then just ravished.” He pointed toward the pennies. “If you want those, you best pick them up.”

Grinding her teeth, Magnolia glanced toward the street, now bustling with people, wagons, and donkeys. A monkey skittered past the alley, stopped, cocked his head curiously at them, and then jabbered something that sounded like a rebuke before he darted away. She closed her eyes as a groan erupted in her throat. She must leave this savage country! She simply couldn’t bear another five days traipsing through the jungle, dealing with insects as big as cats and snakes as long and thick as ship’s ropes. Nor could she face her father again. If he didn’t kill her for leaving, his continual berating would drive her to suicide.

She gazed at the coins scattered over the moist ground. Scattered and worthless just like her dreams, her hopes. Just like her. Yet something Hayden said haunted her dismal thoughts.

“You were never planning on putting me on a ship, were you? You merely told me that so I’d help you with that repulsive immigration officer.”

He didn’t need to answer. She saw the answer shouting from behind those green eyes of his.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I fully intended to escort you home if Mr. Santos had informed me that Godard had gone back to the States.”

“And if not?”

He shrugged. “Like I said, you wouldn’t survive alone on a ship.”

“What is that to you?” Blood surged through her veins, thick and scorching. “You lie to me, cheat me, use me. Why do you care if I survive the trip or not?”

He raised his brows. “I am not a complete monster, Princess.”

“No, you are worse than a monster! You are a heartless beast, a cruel, heartless beast who preys on innocent women.”

She must have struck a nerve for a hint of remorse shoved the pompous fury from his face.

“Listen, Princess,” he began, hands raised in a truce.

But Magnolia couldn’t hear him anymore. Rage seared through her, befuddling all rational thought. Lifting her foot, she kicked him as hard as she could.

She aimed for his thigh, hoping to knock him to the ground, but she must have struck a more sensitive area, for he toppled over with an agonizing groan.

A moment’s consideration told her she didn’t stand a chance of retrieving her money from his pocket so instead, she grabbed her valise and darted into the street. Tears mottled everything into a kaleidoscope of colors as she twined her way through the swarm of beasts and humanity. Creaking wagons, shouting vendors, and squawking birds blended in a perverted, dismal hum. She had no idea where she was going. She had no money, knew not a soul, and didn’t speak the language. But what else could she do? She’d rather die alone in Rio than go back to New Hope. Besides, she was a capable woman. She would think of something, wouldn’t she?

Her mind and heart a jumble of fear and panic, she clutched her valise to her chest and rushed forward, stumbling over the uneven cobblestones. She turned down a familiar-looking street and hurried past a huge church with white columns, lofty spires, and a scrolled bell tower. Halting to catch her breath, she studied the way the rising sun reflected off the stained-glass window, enhancing a portrait of Jesus on the cross. A young boy sat on a bench out front. A beggar? No. His clean, stylish attire and well-groomed hair spoke otherwise. He smiled at her, flashing a rank of snowy teeth before he went back to weaving a basket. Sniffing, Magnolia wiped her face and started up the pathway. A church would be the perfect place to hide, to think, to decide what she should do next.

She pushed against one of the large, heavy doors. The aged wood creaked as it opened to darkness and a blast of cool, musty air. Stepping inside, scents of candle wax and incense wafted around her—pleasant smells that seemed to leech the worry from her pores. She would be safe here. A man like Hayden would never set foot in a church. Nor, she supposed, would he think she would either. Sliding into one of the pews, she set down her valise as her eyes grew accustomed to the dim lighting. Rows of empty wooden benches stretched to an altar laden with white linen, lit candles, and silver bowls. Beyond the altar and above the chancel hung a carved figure of Jesus on the cross. Golden angels with trumpets to their lips perched on either side of him. Of course Magnolia knew the story of the Son of God, who died to save mankind from their sins. She’d heard it preached repeatedly in her childhood. And while it made for an interesting tale, she’d never seen how it applied to her. Perhaps this Jesus
was
the Son of God. Perhaps He did die for her. But where was He now? Why didn’t He show Himself? Talk to her? Help her figure out her disaster of a life? No, God had always seemed so far away, so unreachable.

Leaning back on the hard pew, she plucked her mirror from her valise and attempted to stuff her wayward hair back into her bun. How her father would scold her for entering a church in such disarray. Not only was her hair a mess, but perspiration covered her face and neck. Grabbing a handkerchief, she dabbed the offending moisture, all the while wondering, if God did exist, why He cared so much about appearances. Was He just like her father—always expecting perfection? If so, she wanted nothing to do with Him. Lowering her mirror, she dropped it back into her valise.

A gust of wind blasted over her, warm and scented with roses and vanilla, and so strong it loosened her hair once again from her pins. Magnolia turned to see where it came from when a voice sent her heart into her throat.

“Well, hello, dearest.”

An old woman sat beside her. A very old woman. A stained, torn dress covered her from neck to ankles, divided by an old tattered rope tied around her waist. Furrowed skin hung from a skeletal face framed by shriveled sprigs of gray hair. Where had she come from?

“I didn’t mean to startle you, dearest.” Her voice cracked with age, but her eyes were bright and clear, and the light that shone from within them put Magnolia immediately at ease.

“My apologies. I didn’t see you come in,” Magnolia said. In fact, she hadn’t heard a thing. Odd since every sound seemed to magnify through the hollow, high ceilings of the church.

The lady smiled, revealing a scattering of dull teeth over fleshy gums. Magnolia’s annoyance rose. Of all the places to sit in the vacant church, why did the old woman sit beside her? Especially when Magnolia wished to be alone, to think, to figure how to get herself out of her predicament. The smell of sweat and age and foul breath curled her nose, and she turned to gaze up at the crucifix. “Forgive me, madam, but I would prefer to be alone to pray.”

The woman chuckled. “Is that what you were doing?”

The sarcasm in her tone sent anger through Magnolia. “Yes, it was. Now if you please.” She scooted away, wondering why the woman spoke fluent English with no accent.

She shifted even closer to Magnolia.

With a huff, Magnolia shoved her ever-rebellious hair into her bun and patted it in place. Then rising to her feet, she pressed the wrinkles from her skirts and grabbed her valise, intending to bid the woman good day. But a bony hand reached out and stayed her.

“You concern yourself far too much about your appearance, dearest Magnolia—far too much about your outside, when it is your inside that needs attention.”

The words turned nonsensical in Magnolia’s mind. She jerked from her touch. “How do you know my name?”

Again that smile, filled with such peace. “I know much about you, dearest.”

Magnolia’s legs wobbled, and she sank back into the pew, studying every line and crevice in the woman’s face, trying to determine if she’d met her before. But no, she would remember someone this bent and wrinkled with age.

“You find me ugly, don’t you?” the woman asked.

Magnolia lowered her gaze, unsure of what to say and yet somehow knowing this woman would see through vain flatteries. “No…yes…but you are old. It is to be expected.”

“Old, indeed, dearest. If you only knew.” She chuckled. “But this body is merely a covering, a used garment that one day will be shed. True and lasting beauty comes from within.”

Sunlight shone through the stained glass, sending a rainbow of dusty spears through the church and haloing the figure of Jesus with brilliant light. The old woman gazed up at Him as if she knew Him, as if He were a dear loved one. “God cares not for the outside. His concern is the heart. He sees only the heart.”

Pondering the woman’s statement, Magnolia suddenly wondered at the condition of her own heart. Surely it was clean and good. She hadn’t told too many lies, hadn’t stolen from others. She’d been chaste and moral. She hadn’t hurt anyone purposely, had she? Certainly not like many of her prudish friends back home.

The woman touched her again, and Magnolia felt a spark shoot through her. “Here and henceforth,” the woman began, “your reflection will reveal the true beauty of your heart, the way you appear to those who inhabit eternity. Take care to adorn yourself with jewels that last forever.”

Her words floated through Magnolia’s mind, forming a tangled thread of nonsense. She was still staring at the woman when the old lady gripped the pew back in front of her and pulled herself to stand. With body curled and bent, she waved a bony hand above her head. A bright light flashed. Magnolia blinked. The woman’s body unfurled like a new flower in spring. Her back straightened. Her shoulders stretched. Her withered gray hair plumped and lengthened into gold, silky strands. Creases on her skin faded and tightened, leaving a complexion that glowed. Her eyes sparkled, her lips grew rosy. Her rags transformed into white robes trimmed in silvery glitter.

Magnolia’s heart stopped.

The woman smiled again. “This is how I look on the inside.” Even her gruff voice had transformed into music.

The foyer door squealed. Magnolia turned to see a man enter. A gust of wind struck her with the scent of sweet roses. When she turned back around, the woman was gone.

C
HAPTER
19

A
church was the last place Hayden expected to find Magnolia. It was the last place he expected to find himself. Still throbbing from her assault, he approached her with caution, lest the wildcat reveal her claws again. But when he grew close, she made no move to run, made no move to fight. Instead she remained in the pew, her face a white sheet, her eyes stark and skittering. Finally she gazed up at him, her befuddled expression transforming into recognition, followed by fear, then resignation.

“I see you found me,” she said.

“Perceptive as always, Princess.”

She rose, teetered, and grabbed the pew back for support, the fight gone out of her. So easily, or did something happen? Hayden glanced through the church but no one was in sight. Just the crucified Jesus staring down at Hayden as if he weren’t worthy to be in such a holy place.

A shiver etched between his shoulders.

Magnolia grabbed her valise. “I take it I am now your prisoner.”

“Call it what you may, I will not allow you to put your life and your purity at risk.”

She stepped into the aisle, raised a hand to her head and swayed. An act? No, not by the way she gasped as if all air had evacuated the church. Hayden grabbed her elbow, and she all but fell against him. Despite his anger, he wrapped an arm around her waist and felt her tremble. “What happened? Are you all right?”

She sniffed and shook her head, but said nothing. Hayden found he quite enjoyed the pussy cat over the tigress. Besides, he could not deny his relief at finding her. At first, as he folded in agony from her kick, unable to move or even breathe, his anger told him to just let her go, just let her be. After all, he had what little money she possessed. If the shrew wanted to be on her own, what was that to him? But he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t even think clearly while she was wandering the streets alone. And in far more danger than her innocence realized.

Taking her valise, he ushered her to the door. No sooner did they step out into the blaring sun than the tigress reappeared. Tearing from his embrace, she shoved him aside, nearly knocking him down the steps. “You deceived me!”

He turned his body, shielding himself from another kick, and clutched her arm lest she try to run again. “
You
deceived me, Princess.” He still couldn’t believe that she’d swindled him so effectively, that she’d charmed her way into his heart with lies and promises. The notorious confidence man, Hayden Gale! It was not only unheard of, it was infuriating, and even worse, it was humiliating beyond all measure.

Halting at the bottom of the stairs, she snapped from his grip and faced him. “So, we lied to each other. Used each other. We are even.” Squinting against the bright sunlight, she scanned the street. “How on earth did you find me?”

“The boy.” Hayden gestured toward the bench, but it was empty now. He scratched his chin. “There was a boy. He called to me while I sped past. Told me an American lady was in the church.”

Magnolia frowned and marched onto the muddy street, nearly bumping into a man who was being carried in a chair by four dark mulattoes. Thunder bellowed in the distance. She slowed and faced Hayden, her anger gone, her eyes soft wisps of sapphire. “Why don’t we go home, Hayden? Back to the States. Just you and me.” Her voice was honey. “I’m sure we have enough for two tickets. Let’s leave this horrid place, return to the familiar comforts of home. Please?” Was it his imagination or did her bottom lip suddenly plump like the inviting cushion of a divan? One he normally would long to lounge upon. If he weren’t so furious. Lashes lowering to her cheeks, she played with the lapel of his coat.