Abandoned Memories

by Marylu Tyndall

  James closed his eyes and drew a breath, hoping to steady the thrashing of his heart. But when he opened them again, the wooden spike still protruded from Thiago’s chest. Blood gurgled from the wound around the chipped wood. James’s stomach cycloned, feeling much like the windstorm that had obliterated their camp earlier that day. Sarah knelt beside the unconscious Brazilian, her eyes red rimmed. She grabbed his hand while Magnolia and Eliza stared at James expectantly. Rising to his feet, he glanced over the wounded—at least a dozen. All lying on the sand beneath a slapdash bamboo roof some of the men had hastily erected. All attended to by Magnolia, Eliza, Angeline, and a few other colonists, who now stared at him as if he held the patients’ survival in his hands. But they were wrong. Avoiding Angeline’s gaze, he ducked beneath the bamboo and darted down the beach.

  She followed him. He knew, because her coconut scent drifted on the ocean breeze and swirled beneath his nose. He continued walking, lengthening his stride, too embarrassed to face her. She caught his arm and turned him around. But there was no pity in her violet eyes. Concern, determination perhaps, but no pity.

  “Eliza and Magnolia need you, James. You can’t just walk away.”

  He glanced across the beach where colonists scavenged for anything left by the wind. “I’m not a doctor anymore.”

  “They don’t know whether to pull out the wood or not. They need you to tell them what to do.” She squeezed his arm. “Dodd needs you too. And the others. You don’t have to look at the blood.”

  In the distance, Blake marched across the sand, stopping to speak to one man, then slapping another on the back, before shouting orders to a group who combed the beach for goods. His commanding voice was an encouragement to a colony that no doubt wondered if maybe next the ground would open up and swallow them whole.

  Sobbing drew his gaze to Mrs. Scott, sitting on a stump, her slave, Mable, trying to comfort her. The windstorm had stripped the colony of what little the flood had left them. James felt like crying himself, except that would make him appear even weaker than he already was. Useless as a preacher—evidenced by the woman standing before him who had tried to kill herself two days ago—and useless as a doctor.

  “Will you at least try?” Angeline’s windswept hair fell in tangled waves over her shoulders. A curl blew across her face and tickled the freckles on her nose. She slid it behind her ear and stared at him, her pleading eyes shifting between his. And he knew he’d do anything to please her. Even if it meant his own death.

  Which is exactly what it felt like he faced as he headed back to the makeshift clinic. Rolling up his sleeves, he approached Thiago, saw the relief on Eliza’s face, then shifted his gaze to the blood bubbling from his friend’s chest. And froze. His own blood turned to ice. He glanced away, his gaze landing on Dodd, lying in the corner, a lump on his head the size of a lemon. Angeline said a branch had fallen on him. The man hadn’t woken up or even stirred in the two hours since they’d carried him from the jungle. Beside him lay Mr. Jenkins, a gash on his arm. Mrs. Swanson had a broken leg. Next to her, two farmers suffered mild abrasions, and the rest had minor aches and scrapes.

  But it was Thiago who caused James the most concern. And the most terror.

  “Please, James.” Eliza pressed a cloth on the blood and looked up at him. “Tell us what to do.”

  “We have to pull it out,” he said without looking at the wound. Angeline knelt beside Thiago to help. Sarah dipped a cloth in a bucket and dabbed the Brazilian’s head, her hand trembling.

  “But what if it struck an organ?” Eliza asked.

  James risked a glance. Blood pooled around the wooden spike. His breath beat against his chest. His head grew light. Cursing himself, he looked away. At least the location of the wood indicated no organs or major arteries had been punctured. “If it pierced his heart, he’d be dead. If his lungs, he wouldn’t be breathing like he is.” If it was another organ…well, James doubted he could operate. “Have lots of rags available, some alcohol if we have it.”

  “We don’t,” Eliza said.

  “I have some.” The shame in Magnolia’s voice drew James’s gaze as she pulled a flask from a pocket of her gown. “I don’t drink it anymore,” she offered as an excuse when all the ladies gaped at her.

  James drew a deep breath. The coppery smell of blood sent his heart hammering. Sweat beaded on his neck and arms. “Get a needle and suture ready. Pull the wood out, dab the blood, pour the alcohol on the wound, and sew him up as best you can.”

  Silence answered his instructions, prompting him to glance their way. All four ladies stared at him in horror.

  Sarah grabbed Thiago’s hand, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Eliza tossed her hair over her shoulder, her expression tightening. “You make it sound so easy.”

  James stared at the palm trees blowing in the wind just outside the clinic, at the gauzy foam bubbling on shore, anywhere but at the blood. “It is easy.” For anyone but him. “You can do this, Eliza. I know you can. I promise I won’t leave.”

  Angeline lifted Lydia to sit on her lap, caressing the soft skin of her cheek. So soft, so innocent. Had Angeline ever been this innocent? She couldn’t remember. The baby uttered sweet gurgling sounds and grabbed Angeline’s chin, staring up at her with a drooling smile and eyes as green as moss filled with trust and wonder. Trust. How trusting Lydia had to be. She was completely dependent on others for everything: food, water, protection, even for moving from place to place since she couldn’t yet walk. Yet she had complete trust with no fear of harm or betrayal. How wonderful. How different from the way Angeline felt—from the way most people felt. What happened to people to make them so jaded and skeptical when they reached adulthood? Betrayal, rejection by someone they trusted. What a shame. Angeline hoped Lydia would not suffer such a fate. She hoped—dare she even pray?—that this little angel would never suffer abuse or a broken promise or heartache.

  Or become what Angeline had become.

  “You’re good with children.” James’s voice jarred her from her musings and made her blood warm at the same time. Plopping to the sand beside her, he drew up his knees and laid his arms atop them. “Want some of your own someday?” His lips curved in a half smile that sent her mind reeling with possibility.

  Angeline kissed Lydia’s head and stared out to sea, where morning sunlight cast golden jewels atop waves. Of course she did. But she never would. The thought burned her throat with emotion, keeping her silent. It was just as well. Lydia pointed to Stowy perched on a rock beside them and said, “Day da.”

  “That’s Stowy. He’s a cat,” Angeline said. “C…a…t.”

  James laughed. “I fear she’s a bit too young to understand you.”

  “It’s never too soon to start learning.” Angeline smiled. She’d been taking turns with Eliza and Magnolia looking after Lydia for Sarah, who insisted on keeping vigil beside Thiago ever since they’d removed the spike two days ago. Angeline didn’t mind. She cherished her time with the child. It gave her a chance to pretend, just for a moment, that she was a decent lady with a family of her own.

  “How is Thiago?” she asked.

  James tried to hide his concern, but she knew him too well. “He’s over the worst of it. We shall see.”

  “And Dodd?” Dodd had not woken up in two days and she hated herself for being overjoyed.

  James plucked a large shell from the sand and handed it to Lydia, who promptly stuck the edge into her mouth and began sucking on it. He released a heavy breath and squinted at the sun traversing across a cerulean sky. “I fear it’s a coma. If he hasn’t woken up by tomorrow, there’s no guarantee he ever will.”

  “Poor man,” she said, though her heart leapt at the prospect. Dodd’s eternal sleep would solve all her problems. Well, the biggest one, anyway. She could stay with the colony—what was left of it. More importantly, she could stay with James. Start a new life like she always wanted. Abandon her memories to the past where they belonged.

 
“In the meantime, we must keep water and soft foods down him as much we can,” James said.

  James and Dodd had never been friends. In fact, quite the opposite. Yet the concern in his voice for the man put Angeline to shame. Because of his fear of blood, James thought himself weak. But he was the strongest, most courageous man she knew. Though sweat had beaded his brow, though his hands had trembled and his chest heaved, he had stood by Eliza and Magnolia, instructing them minute by minute while they tended to Thiago. He hadn’t even left his post when his legs had begun to tremble. He’d just sat down and continued.

  His eyes met hers. And in their depths she saw a life played out with the two of them—a life of love and passion and children and joy. A mist covered her own eyes, but she couldn’t turn them away.

  “What are you thinking?” He cocked his head as a breeze stirred the tips of his hair.

  “I’m thinking about you.”

  Hope shone in his smile. Confusion formed a line on his brow. He brushed a curl from her face. “I thought you said…”

  That she didn’t want his courtship? “I can think, can’t I?”

  “As often as you want.” He chuckled. “As much as you want.”

  Lydia pulled the tip of the shell from her mouth and tossed it at him.

  He caught it, drool splattering on his hand. Laughing, he lifted his gaze to Angeline’s. “As long as they are good thoughts.”

  “Always.” She knew she shouldn’t have said that. She knew she should keep her feelings to herself. But something broke free within her. Maybe it was all the near-death disasters the colony had suffered, maybe it was Dodd’s coma, maybe it was the hope she saw in James’s eyes. A hope she felt mirrored in her own.

  Lydia grabbed Angeline’s hair and tugged. She winced as James peeled back the chubby fingers to free the strands. Then relieving her of the child, he hoisted the baby in his arms and stood, twirling her around and around until she giggled so hard it made them both laugh. Angeline stared, mesmerized, at the child cradled in James’s arms, her tiny hand splayed over his rounded biceps. He tickled her gently, and she laughed and drooled on his shirt.

  He glanced at Angeline and smiled, and she wondered what it would be like to have children with such a man.

  Oh God, if You’re up there and You listen to women like me, please, please, don’t let Dodd wake up.

  C

  HAPTER 24

  It’s the beast, Destruction.” James glanced over the colonists and the few pirates who had assembled the following evening around the fire. “He caused the windstorm. I’m sure of it.”

  Snorts and chuckles ensued.

  “Pshaw!” one colonist said.

  Ricu planted his hands on his waist. “Ridículo! I should not told you my tale.”

  James had not expected—nor wanted—Ricu to join their meeting, but he was not in a position to stop the man from doing much of anything. Still, his presence would only make what James had to say more difficult.

  Hayden looked up from whittling a piece of wood. “We knew about the beasts before you got here, Captain.”

  From Magnolia’s lap beside him, Lydia flailed her chubby hands in the air and yelped in agreement.

  “Humph!” Ricu uttered a curse, lifted his hand, and snapped his fingers. One of the pirates placed a white handkerchief in his grip. The captain studied it intently before dabbing it over his neck and forehead. Firelight glinted off his jewel-pinned waistcoat.

  James gestured toward the pirate’s ship anchored several yards offshore. “How do you explain your ship? Not a sail torn, not a timber rent. No damage at all from the wind.”

  “And the water was as smooth as glass during the storm,” Angeline said, petting Stowy. “I saw it.”

  Ricu scratched his whiskers and studied his ship, fading with the setting sun, before offering only a grunt in response.

  “Destruction or not, we lost what little we had left,” one of the ex-soldiers said.

  “All that remains are some clothes, a couple of pails and baskets, a wagon and some tools,” the blacksmith grumbled.

  “And our lives,” Eliza offered.

  Moses added his “Amen,” drawing the scowls of some. He stood beside Mable and slipped his hand in hers, making sure the Scotts couldn’t see them from where they stood at the edge of the crowd, arm in arm, looking much older than their fifty-some years.

  James smiled at the freedman. In fact he was smiling a lot these past few days. And all because of the alluring russet-haired beauty sitting on a stump beside him. Since the windstorm, something had changed for the better between them. He had no idea why, but he wasn’t complaining. She gazed at him now, her eyes sparkling in the firelight and a smile curving her lips. And he found he didn’t care whether they had no shelter or food or whether invisible beasts attacked them or pirates kept them prisoner. If Angeline continued to look at him like that, he could survive whatever came his way.

  “Indeed.” A cool breeze struck them as Blake stepped before the group. “We are all alive and have plenty of food. We should thank God for that.”

  “Some Southern utopia,” a lady muttered under her breath.

  Mr. Jenkins, a bandage wrapped around his arm, stood and cast a wary glance toward Ricu before turning to Blake. “There ain’t nothing for us here, and you said the emperor might be obliged to relocate us.”

  “I don’t want to start over on another plot of land in this dreadful jungle,” another man said. “I just want to go home. Back to the States.”

  “Here, here,” two people shouted at the same time.

  “Ah, and with a quick stop at Rio de Janeiro,” one woman added with a dreamy sigh. “What I wouldn’t give to sleep on a bed again.”

  “And have a new gown made,” Magnolia agreed but was instantly silenced by a look from Hayden.

  James exchanged a glance with Blake. That was their plan. If the pirates ever released them, they would travel to Rio, take out a loan from the emperor, and purchase new supplies and a new plot of land. But that couldn’t happen until the pirates left. And the pirates wouldn’t leave without their gold. And James couldn’t allow them to find it and release the final beast. If that fourth monster were freed—from what James had interpreted in the Hebrew book—it wouldn’t matter where they went. Life would never be the same anywhere on the planet. But how to explain that to people who, though they’d witnessed the same things James and his friends had, thought the notion of invisible beasts utterly ridiculous?

  Captain Ricu emitted a growl that would stir the hairs on a bear. “I say who leaves and who not leaves! If you go Rio, you will tell about gold.”

  “Ah, let them go, Captain,” Patrick pushed his way through the crowd and gave Ricu a smile as if they were the best of friends. “They won’t tell anyone. Who would believe them anyway? Look at them.” He waved a hand over the group, his nose wrinkling. “They look like beggars and wastrels. And if they do say anything, by the time anyone gets here, you’ll have dug up your treasure and been long gone.”

  Hayden shook his head at his father’s performance and continued his whittling. What did Patrick hope to accomplish by siding with pirates? Did he actually believe they would hand over any of their gold to him? No, Patrick was many things, but he was not stupid. The charlatan was up to something. But what?

  “I need men to help dig,” Ricu returned, fingering the butt of a pistol stuffed in his belt as he scanned the colonists, no doubt seeking strong men he hadn’t yet worn to a frazzle. For the past four days, he’d selected five of their men and dragged them to the tunnels. And each day they’d returned hungry and parched and covered in cuts and bruises. James wondered why he hadn’t yet been chosen. Perhaps because Ricu knew he was a doctor and thought it best to keep him uninjured. Hayden had already gone twice, poor man.

  The pirate captain drew his blade. “Tomorrow I take you, you, you, you”—he pointed the tip toward each man in turn, the baker, two ex-soldiers, Blake—“and you.” Jenkins the farmer.
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  The chosen men’s expressions dropped.

  “Capitão, why not bring all the men?” One of the pirates rubbed his shoulder and winced.

  “No room in tunnels. Too many to guard.” Sheathing his sword, Ricu gazed out at his ship, the silhouette barely discernible in the shadows. “We will get gold soon.” He sneered at the colonists. “Then I think about if I let you go.” He waved his hand in the air, the lace at his cuffs fluttering in the breeze. And without another word, he turned and marched away, joining his fellow marauders already well into their cups down shore.

  An eerie howl, more heartrending than frightening emanated from the jungle, drawing all eyes to the green fortress just yards away.

  Hayden tossed another log on the fire. Sparks shot into the darkening skies.

  “Wish they’d at least share their spirits,” one man grumbled.

  A cry for help, followed by “Doctor, Doctor!” shrieked from down the beach as Sarah flew at the group in a flurry of fear and hysteria.

  She yanked on James’s arm. “Thiago is much worse!”

  And worse he was. His skin flamed. His breathing was ragged, and the wound in his chest had turned green and smelled putrid. Infection had set in. And James had no medicine. Nothing to give him at all.

  The man fluttered his eyes open as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Sweat glued his black hair to his head and neck. His chest rose and fell like erratic waves at sea as he tossed over the sand in discomfort. Finally, he settled and his hazy gaze landed on James.

  “Am I to die, Doc?” Thiago’s voice came out weak and raspy.

  James swallowed. One thing he swore he’d never do was lie to his patients. He had never done so in the war, and he wasn’t about to now. “Unless a miracle happens…I’m sorry.”