Elusive Hope (5 page)

The flicker of Graves’s torch drew Hayden’s gaze, and he headed toward him with one thought in mind—to drag the madman out of here and leave this place posthaste. A rancid smell much like rotten fruit assailed him as he passed a large pond circled in stone. Steam spiraled off the dark water like misty fingers rising from the grave. Apprehension twisted his gut and he hurried along, his gaze drawn to metallic engravings that decorated the entire back wall. Torch light glinted off a golden crescent moon surrounded by stars that hung above what appeared to be a stone altar. Thinking this must be what drew Graves’s attention, Hayden faced him, intending to make a joke that they shouldn’t tell Dodd about the temple or he’d strip the place of all its gold. But Graves wasn’t looking at the golden moon. He was staring at words etched into the stone above an opening to the side of the altar.

“Do you know what this says, my friend?” Graves held the torch up to the lintel.

Hayden glanced at the words. Latin? How had Latin words come to be written in the middle of a Brazilian jungle? “No.”

“It says ‘Beware, the Catacomb of the Four.’ ”

C
HAPTER
4

B
ack in New Hope, Hayden slid his knife across the bark and watched the mahogany curl beneath his blade. One of the many wonderful things this jungle possessed was a variety of rare, exotic wood. His good friend, a furniture maker from Savannah, would be happier than a beaver in a woodshed with such abundance. Smiling at the thought, Hayden carved another slice, carefully shaping the wood like a potter molding clay. The smell of roasted fish and fried bananas stirred his stomach to life, and he looked up to see several of the farmer’s wives hovering about the massive brick fire pit at the edge of the meeting shelter. At least that was what the colonists were calling the large pavilion left by the previous settlers. Based on the table and several chairs scattered beneath the palm-frond roof, Hayden assumed the area must have been used for meetings, for sharing meals, and perhaps even for the occasional party. But why had his father’s colony left after working so hard to erect the huts and build all the furniture? Not to mention felling trees and clearing away part of the jungle for planting crops?

Something had driven them away. Something frightening.

His thoughts scattered to the eerie temple Graves had found earlier: the stark silence surrounding the area, the heaviness in the air, the odd Latin phrase about catacombs. Could something from that unholy place have caused the last colonists to leave? But no. From the looks of it, no one had set foot there in years.

The setting sun speared golden rays through the web of green,casting a bluish hue over the jungle, before sinking beneath the tree tops. And just as quickly, the warble of birds transformed into the buzz of crickets and croak of frogs. Though Hayden ought to have been accustomed to it by now, the sudden onset of night took him by surprise. Rising, he struck a match and lit one of the many lanterns hanging on posts throughout the camp while other men did the same. The golden cones lit the street at intervals and made the camp look almost civilized. Almost. Settling on a bench beneath one of the lights, Hayden resumed his whittling as James Callaway, the doctor-preacher approached and eased beside him.

“What are you making?”

Hayden studied the long piece of wood he’d formed into what could pass for a table or chair leg. “Not quite sure.”

“You’ve got talent, Hayden. We could use some decent furniture around here.” James shifted on the bench, causing it to wobble. “Whoever made these didn’t know what he was doing.”

Hayden nodded his agreement. The ramshackle furniture had been shabbily assembled and would no doubt fall apart within a year. And though Hayden would love to put his skills to use, he had no plans to remain with the colony. He had to leave, find his father, and make him pay. But he couldn’t tell James that.

“Where did you learn woodworking?” James asked.

“I spent a summer working in my friend’s furniture shop in Savannah.”

“It shows.” Groaning, James stretched his back and gazed over the darkness that now inhabited the field they’d been plowing all day. “I tell you, I’ve never worked as hard as I have these past two months.” He chuckled.

Hayden had no doubt James was unaccustomed to hard work, except, perhaps, for his years as a battlefield doctor. Before the war, the man had been a preacher. And a hypocrite. But then no one knew about that except Hayden from the one time he’d seen him in Tennessee back in ’60. Regardless, the doctor’s family came from big money. Not like Hayden’s. No, Hayden had been forced to scrape and beg just for scraps to eat. Until he figured out how easy it was to swindle the rich.

Too easy, as it turned out.

Angeline’s sweet laughter drew both men’s gazes to the comely russet-haired seamstress carrying a platter of food to the table in the meeting house. She not only drew their gazes, but those of several of the other single men, including Mr. Dodd, who took a seat on a stump across from Hayden. Hayden hated the way the man ogled her, and he wasn’t altogether pleased at James’s interest in her either. Yet, what did it matter? Hayden wasn’t staying long. But if he was…well, the woman intrigued him. He was sure he’d seen her face on a wanted poster in the Norfolk, Virginia, jail. He never forgot a face, especially a beautiful one like hers. And now that he’d discovered she had a sweet disposition and a kind heart, the dichotomy of her brush with the law fascinated him all the more.

Setting the platter on the table, she returned to the fire and began stirring a kettle. Though she claimed her family were wealthy shipwrights, she did not shy away from hard work.

So unlike Magnolia. Who now entered the clearing, flanked by her pretentious parents and followed by their slave, Mable. Wearing a lilac taffeta gown and with her flaxen hair pinned up in a waterfall of curls about her neck, the spoiled plantation owner’s daughter presented a rather alluring picture.

As long as she kept her mouth shut.

Her gaze brushed over him with a dismissal that pricked his ire. He shrugged it off. He’d been engaged in verbal battle with the shrew ever since he’d wandered into her cabin on board the
New Hope
with a bullet in his side. Since then, the only time she’d been quiet was when he’d kissed her on board the ship. But oh, what a kiss! He reacted even now at the remembrance, and his knife slipped over the wood, slicing his finger. A thin line of blood rose from his skin.

“Let me see that.” As if the war nurse could smell blood on the wind, Eliza appeared out of nowhere.

The doctor, sitting beside Hayden, had the same ability but the opposite reaction. Coughing, he turned his face away, and Hayden had the sudden urge to shove his bloody hand into the man’s vision just to see him squirm. But that wouldn’t be nice. And Hayden
did
like the doc, even if he was a bit preachy.

“It’s nothing,” Hayden said.

Eliza knelt to examine his hand. Reaching into a pouch clipped to her belt, she opened a jar and spread salve over Hayden’s wound as a night breeze swirled around them, cooling the perspiration on his neck.

“Ouch.” Pain brought his gaze down to Eliza pressing against his cut. “It felt better before you touched it.”

“Don’t be such a baby, Hayden,” she chided him. “You don’t want it getting infected, do you?”

The spicy scent of the food drew more people from their huts in anticipation of supper. The blacksmith and his wife, the baker, the cooper, several farmers, another plantation owner, and several exsoldiers, forty-two in all. Most of whom got along just fine.

Eliza wrapped a bandage around his finger. “I believe you’ll live.”

Hayden grinned as she rose and looped her arm through her husband’s, who had just joined them. For all his sternness, the colonel, and leader of their ragtag southern outpost, melted like wax whenever he looked at his wife. Ever since their wedding on the beach the day after the ship set them ashore, the two hadn’t kept their eyes—or their hands—off each other.

Hayden averted his gaze from the look that now passed between them. A private look of promised love and intimacy.

Sarah, the teacher, announced dinner and the group moved to sit in the meeting shelter, the women at the table and the men scattered about on chairs and stools. After James said a prayer of thanks to bless the food, Thiago educated them on their Brazilian fare for the night.

“Rice, beans,
carne seca
or dried beef, boiled cabbage with garlic, fried bananas, roasted
bacalhau
or cod, and mandioca cakes.” The guide smiled broadly. “Mandioca is a root that grows here in Brazil,” he continued in his Portuguese accent. “It is poisonous if you eat it raw but once cooked it is safe. Known as the bread of Brazil. Very good.” He rubbed his tummy and smiled, eliciting a few chuckles from the colonists. “Eat and enjoy!”

Hayden gathered a plateful, anxious to appease his hunger after a long day’s work. The food tasted as good as it smelled, and he couldn’t shovel it into his mouth fast enough to satisfy his aching belly. While they ate, James and Blake discussed what else needed to be done before they planted the fields, as well as the best way to organize the men and gather materials to build a sugar press, mill, and barn. With each spark of enthusiasm in their voices and each glimpse of excitement on their expressions, Hayden’s heart sank. He couldn’t join them. No matter how much he longed to be a part of recreating a Southern utopia in this strange new land, he couldn’t stay. He’d come for a different reason, and he must keep his focus.

His gaze landed on Magnolia, who seemed as miserable as he was. Scowling, she picked at the food Mable had brought her as if it were poison. Her father leaned toward her and said something that further deepened her frown and sent her dashing down the main street in a riot of taffeta and lace. Her abrupt and over-dramatized departure, however, did nothing to dampen the jovial mood of the colonists, who continued to converse and laugh while the children giggled and played in the center of the square. Hayden shook his head at her childish behavior even as pity stung him for the way her father treated her. As no father should treat a daughter.

The soothing rush of the river harmonized with the buzz of nighttime insects to create a pleasant tune that, combined with the scent of orange blossoms in the gentle breeze, settled an unusual peace over Hayden. Despite the hard work involved in tilling the farmland and building the colony, Brazil was indeed a paradise: green and lush and teeming with life, and with more wild fruit and fresh water than a person could want. What Hayden wouldn’t have given to have spent his childhood here instead of begging and stealing on the streets of Charleston. At least he would have had plenty of food and not been surrounded by hooligans and drunks intent on taking advantage of a young, innocent boy.

As if reading his thoughts, a predatory growl echoed through the trees,causing the hairs on his arm to stand at attention. Silence descended on the camp as all eyes shifted toward the dark jungle surrounding them. They’d heard beastly howls before but this one seemed closer, more intent. Thiago hopped up from his seat beside Sarah, yanked four polished stones from his pocket and headed toward Blake.

“Colonel, put these rocks at four corners of camp, they will keep out the
Lobisón.”
Fear sparked in his dark eyes as he cast a wary glance over the jungle. “The man-wolf. That is his call.”

“Man-wolf?” Blake stood. “What nonsense is this?”

“No nonsense, Colonel. He is part man, part wolf. Legend says if he attacks you and you live, you become Lobisón too.”

James closed the man’s hand over the charms as if the sight of them repulsed him. “We have no need of these, Thiago. God is far more powerful than any wolf. He will protect us.”

Thiago narrowed his eyes. “You do not know what Lobisón can do, Mr. James. These rocks are part of the
Penha
, a mountain rock consecrated to Virgin, our Lady of the Rock. Very powerful against evil.”

Hayden was about to remark on the foolishness of such a notion when a woman’s scream split the night.

C
HAPTER
5

M
agnolia batted tears from her face and stormed toward the edge of camp. Could her father not cease his harsh censure of her for one meal? Just one meal when she wasn’t castigated for her appearance or the improper way she was eating her food? She could almost understand, almost, if they were seated at an elegant linen-clad table, dining with British royalty or even with the upper-crust of Georgia—rich, eligible men of substance and power—but they were sitting on stumps in the middle of a primordial jungle eating with commoners! She was tired of being told what to wear and how to fix her hair and how to sit and walk and speak. And behave. It wasn’t like she had to impress anyone except snails and toads and oh—something cracked beneath her shoe. She froze, cringed, and slowly lifted her foot, not daring to glance down. A squishy sound met her ears, sending the few bites of supper she’d consumed into her throat.

“Oh…I hate this place!” she squealed and glanced back at the glow of the campfire flickering between leaves. She’d been so distraught, she’d passed her parent’s hut and plunged into the jungle unaware. Buzzing and chirping and croaking surrounded her like a living, breathing entity—a dark, breathing entity made up of quivering shadows and pulsating greenery. She grabbed her skirts, intending to head back to camp when the soothing sound of water beckoned her onward. Perhaps she could wash her face and have a moment’s peace before she faced the colonists, who were no doubt entertaining themselves this very moment with gossip about her sudden departure.

Glancing around at the dark foliage, she took a tentative step toward the bubbling sound. Truth be told, she seemed to provide the citizens of New Hope with much entertainment of late. Just because she was different: educated, more attentive to her appearance, genteel, and refined while most of them were nothing but farmers, soldiers, and tradesmen. Why, oh why, had her father subjected her and her mother to such plebian rabble! She swept aside a branch and moved forward.