Microsoft Word - Jenny dreamed (30 page)

He really hadn't thought she'd make the deadline and had been half-prepared to hassle Courtland for an extension of a day or so, but on the fourth day at dawn, Jenny appeared in a travelling outfit of serviceable broad-cloth, with a tailored jacket of gold to match the calf-length skirt. She had followed his advice faithfully and wore a thin cotton blouse and knee-length, dark leather boots. Dev was surprised to find that she had still managed to look fashionable.

A six-weeks supply of food, clothing; and medicines had been evenly distributed among their caravan of three flatbed wagons. Dev drove one, with Jenny at his side; each of the others was handled by Courtland and Ramon. Fifteen native bearers from the Yaruro tribe shared the wagon beds with the supplies, and Courtland had explained that they would hire another eight or so when they reached the Orinoco River.

Before they started, Courtland reiterated the fact that he was in command of the expedition.

"Your father hired me, miss, and I'm responsible for your safe return as well as searching for your missing husband. If I give an order, I expect it to be followed exactly. I've been out there before," he added, using his hat to shade his eyes from the bright glare of the rising sun.

"Aside from Ramon here, I'm the only one who knows what we're getting into-and how to come back alive' and healthy/ We'll have to stay in sight of each other, in contact at all times when we're moving across land..When we finally reach the forests, the only path is the one we hack out with machetes. I lead," he emphasized, gesturing to their guide, who bobbed his head with a smile. "Ramon brings up the rear. Cantrell, you and the lady stick close together and stay in the middle. Any deviations and I can't take responsibility for your safety. Any questions?"

There were none. Everyone boarded the wagons, ready to begin the trip through a pass of the Avila mountain range that formed a half-circle south of Caracas to the llanos, the flat plains that lay below them. Finally they would reach the tributary of the Apure River that would carry them due south to its confluence with the great Orinoco and the beginnings of the highlands,

That first day they travelled steadily upward along the rough-cut, rocky pass through the mountains. Along the way they passed several villages that were nothing more than a few huts of grass. The peasant villagers, called campesinos by Ramon, watched their group passing with faces that were weathered and dried by the sun, and, though such a large group passing by must have been an uncommon experience, none of the campesinos seemed the least bit curious.

At twilight they had crossed the midpoint in the steep ascent of Mount Avila and stopped to spend the night at a small, impoverished inn. Dev took one look at the filthy condition of the rooms, whose straw pallets appeared to be bug-infested, and cursed Courtland soundly for even thinking Jenny could spend the night there. He suspected the man had known what it was like even as he'd suggested they stay the night and meant to show Dev and Jenny that they should tum back to Caracas while there was still time.

After only one day's travel, they were dusty, tired, and aching, having been jostled over roads meant only for walking peasants or mounted soldados sent south to patrol the country's borders. Dev knew Jenny was determined to continue, discomfort or not, and he was just as set on it.

Rather than start an argument with the man, Dev insisted he and Jenny would be perfectly happy to use the wagon beds for the night, sleeping under netting to ward off mosquitoes.

"You're more than welcome to take our rooms inside," he offered with a grin that widened when Courtland scowled and muttered something about "too soft" before he strolled into the taverna for a nightcap.

In the morning, following a bland breakfast of corn-meal mush, cassava, and coffee, they started off again with the sun's first rays. Though she gladly left the flea-ridden inn behind, Jenny did feel a certain reluctance when she looked back at Caracas. From this height, the city sparkled in the distance like a perfect, miniature painting of a gardened valley, dotted with tiny, red-tiled, white stucco houses. Beyond it, seven miles to the north, lay the seaport of La Guaira and the azure expanse of the Caribbean.

The time for second thoughts was gone now. Ahead lay the uncertainty of a vast terrain of jungle whose deep, lush vegetation hid dangers at almost every step of the way. Jenny kept her hands clenched tightly in her lap, vowing not to be the cause of any turning back from their goal.

By the end of a week, they had finally reached the , waters of the Apure. Jenny was worn and tired, more so than she would admit to any but herself, and it was only her obstinate pride that kept her going. At a small village where the tributary changed from a narrow stream into a navigable river, they struck a bargain with the Indian chief and bartered trade goods for four long dugout canoes, each capable of carrying up to seven passengers with room for supplies.

They were passing through the llanos now and the flat, grassy plains stretched for miles on either side of the river without even a hill to break the monotonous scenery. Only on the riverbanks did the land rise gently, edged with forest. This area was peopled by a nomadic tribe called the Jacjira, who subsisted on river fishes and edible roots of the forest vegetation. Courtland hired eight members of the tribe, swelling the ranks of the bearers to twenty-three.

Like the Blackfoot warriors of Montana, the Jacjira wore breechcloths. Tiny tots gamboled naked in the sun; their mothers wore only skirts of woven grass.

Before continuing the journey by river, the expedition spent several nights among the Indians, enjoying their hospitality. Everyone made them feel welcome, and it soon seemed as though they'd never been strangers at all. The women approached Jenny, shyly at first, marvelling at the fairness of her skin and light eyes, giggling as they lost some of their reserve and compared their own dark complexions with hers.

Upon their departure, the travelers were presented with gifts of fruits and vegetables native to the area. Once they were adrift in the river's current, Jenny was careful to remain calm and still, her hands tightly clutched together in her lap as she reached the warnings of the dangers of river travel. Even the slightest sway of the vessel as the bearers paddled against the current was enough to send a chill down her spine.

Once on the river, they entered another world. The water was dark and muddy, shadowed by the multiple layers of tree cover above and quiet except for the occasional, haunting call of a bird. Orchids and other exotic flowers blossomed everywhere along the riverbanks and bright, multicolored birds darted amongst the branches and low-hanging vines.

Jenny soon lost her first fright and allowed her tense body to relax and enjoy the beauty of the scenery. Deer poised innocently in grassy spots along' the way, raising their long, delicate noses to scent the passing of strangers before they calmly resumed nibbling at the grass. The trees themselves were so varied that even Ramon was not able to name them all.

Jacaranda, acacia, bucare, araguaney, mango and rubber, palm and balsam; the list that he could identify seemed endless.

Farther down the river, it widened, and there were occasional sandbars to be avoided. On these and along the sandy shoreline, great crocodiles called caymans lounged in the filtered sunlight or slid waddling into the river water at the passing of the canoes. It was at such times, among all the beauty of the landscape, that Jenny was sharply reminded of the many dangers the garden-like setting hid.

Another five days brought them to the confluence of the Apure and Orinoco rivers. Several miles east of the small settlement of Caicara, the Chuchivero River flowed out of the Orinoco, running south into the rain forests that surrounded the vast, broken ranges of mountains known as the Guayana Highlands. There lay the Indian village where Alejandro had supposedly found his brother's grave. The isolated area was also known for its legends of lost gold that had brought others here on the same fruitless quest that had lured Rodrigo to leave his home and dukedom behind. . .

The village of the Montiona lay some thirty miles upriver. To cover this distance had taken them two days in the llanos, but in this terrain, it took four and a half days. The natives greeted them excitedly at the river's edge, and Jenny's heart beat wildly as Ramon stepped forward to speak to their chief in his own language. Dev was instantly aware of her tension and insisted she rest, settling her on one of the boxes of trade goods they meant to barter.

Ramon's expression was neither crestfallen nor heartened when he returned. "The chief, he say, a man who look like Senor Morenes die near here, almost three rainy seasons past. He and another man who look like him come through here looking for gold." Ramon grinned and rolled his eyes, as if to suggest such a search was foolish, indeed. "The chief, Arioca, he say that the other man head north and this the last he see of him, but some of tribe, they say he come again, this time with other white men and many supplies."

Jenny closed her eyes, more confused than ever. Could Alazar have mistakenly identified Rodrigo's half-brother for Rodrigo himself, or was the chief confused about which one had died? Why had the survivor headed out of the forest, only to return with men and supplies?

The only course open to them was to continue south on the slim chance that they would find some traces of the passage of a group of white men. Upon further questioning, Arioca revealed that there was a related branch of his tribe living farther along the river and thought they might be of more help.

Once again they spent the night in a native village. It was very similar to the others they'd seen, with a "square" around which" several grass huts housing two or more families each were situated. The people accepted their presence readily enough, but Jenny had the impression that they deemed it very curious indeed that their isolated bit of the world was suddenly the object of so many white visitors.

The travel upriver, against the increasingly steep grade of the ascending riverbed and the current that flowed down from its source in the highlands, was slow and arduous. The rain forest had taken on a jungle-like appearance now and steamed around them, its heavy humidity held close by the dense, towering trees that lined the riverbank. The lush, heavy branches formed almost a solid bower above their heads, admitting little more than dim rays of the sun to light their-passage.

The bearers and supplies were divided evenly among the canoes, with Courtland commanding the lead boat, Jenny and Dev in the second, bearers in the third, and Ramon in the last. They had just reached a narrowed bend in the river where it crooked to the east for a half-mile before heading south again when Jenny was startled by an angry exclamation, followed by a splash and an unearthly shriek. Courtland signalled the canoes to slow and pull to the bank. Amid shouts and curses in Spanish, the third and fourth canoes finally appeared.

Courtland called out to Ramon, and the guide cupped his hands, shouting grimly that one of the bearers in his vessel had fallen overboard, adding a one-word explanation that needed no clarification, "Caribe!"

Jenny stared at the empty spot in Ramon's canoe, noting that one of the natives whose name was Chucho was now missing, and began to weep. One of their number had now been lost to those unseen predators that lurked beneath the dark surface of the water. Beside her, Dev shuddered in disgust and drew her close, soothing her fright the only way he could.

"We're not that far from the other Montiona village," Courtland called gruffiy. "We've lost time-Iet's get moving!" He motioned to the bearers to resume paddling and shouted the order back to Ramon.

Before he turned to study the river ahead, he added with dry irony, "Don't anybody stretch a muscle 'til we hit that village!" Jenny huddled against Dev, more than ever wanting to turn around, knowing they had come too far to do so.

After another two hours they spotted a village not far from the river's edge. It was strangely empty and quiet, without the usual sounds of children at play. The canoes were dragged ashore and a collective sigh of relief went up at their having reached the relative safety of land without further incident.

Courtland waited until everyone was assembled on shore, conversing with Ramon in a low whisper until he finally turned to Dev and ordered, "Keep your rifle ready and stay here. This shouldn't take lang." Courtland signalled Ramon to circle to the left while he moved through the brush in the opposite direction. Soon they were both out of sight, and any minute Dev expected to hear the sharp crack of a rifle shot, but there was no break in the ominous silence. The two men finally met at the center of the camp, Ramon shrugging in answer to a question from Courtland.

At the water's edge, the bearers murmured nervously, tensely staring around them with an air of superstitious dread. By the time the guide and Courtland rejoined the group, the bearers' appeared ready to bolt. "Well ... what is it, Courtland?" Dev inquired impatiently.

"Where are the villagers?"

Courtland ignored the questions until he'd motioned to Ramon with a jerk of his head. The guide drew the natives aside, murmuring an explanation to them. When Dev swore an oath in frustration at the man's silence, Courtland finally answered. "They've disappeared, Cantrell. I'd say it's been a good six months or more since there's been a cookfire in that village. Looks like they left real sudden, too." He took off his hat, swiping at the sweat that beaded his forehead. "I'm not quite sure what to make of it. There apparently weren't many villagers, but the fact that they're gone and the Montionas down-river don't know about it

..." He shook his head, slamming his hat back on as he puzzled over the mystery.

"If Ramon can get the natives settled down, we'll make camp here for the night and continue upriver in the morning. Maybe we'll find traces of them farther along."

He didn't sound very convincing, and Jenny raised her head with an effort, her voice shaken and soft. "Tell us what you really think happened, Mr. Courtland. We're all in this together. I know you must have a theory."