From This Day Forward

chapter Nine



The shrill blast of the mail boat's whistle broke the early morning calm. Jason straightened and wiped his face with his bare arm, fighting the rising well of pain inside him. He'd done the right thing, the only thing he could have done under the circumstances.

He felt the pressure of eyes on him before he glanced at the men who worked around him—accusing eyes, rueful eyes.

"Damn." His gaze fell on Ignacio. "What the hell are you looking at? We have work to do."

Ignacio snorted and turned away, the expression of contempt in his eyes saying more than any words could have.

All morning, Jason worked like a man possessed. He tried with all his will not to think of her, not to feel as if his own blood flowed away from him on the wide, wild Amazon, but the fazenda itself seemed to sag with sorrow at her absence. He'd wanted her to go, so why did he feel as if a part of him was being torn away?

When he returned to the house for lunch, he found it quiet and deserted. No lunch awaited him. It was just as well; he had no appetite and no desire to face Ines's baleful, accusing glances.

He stood for a long time, gazing out the open dining room door at the encroaching jungle, contemplating the precarious nature of his existence here. No one had believed he could make a coffee plantation work and grow in this remote region, and to be honest, there had been times when he doubted his own sanity. But somehow, with the help of dedicated men, he'd managed to carve out a place for himself.

Still, the jungle waited patiently at his doorstep for the chance to reclaim what he'd taken from it. Now and then it would send a reminder—like a plague of insects or a deadly mud slide—to remind him how insignificant he was, to remind him that he was only here, alive and thriving, because the jungle allowed it.

This was no life for a woman. A woman needed stability and comfort. The sound of the river rushing to its source, the familiar scent of rotting leaves invigorated him and made him feel attuned to the rhythm of life. A woman could never comprehend such a thing. She would have grown to hate it here before long—and she would have grown to hate him.

What could he give her here in the harsh jungle? She'd come in search of warmth and companionship, things he knew nothing about. Caroline had been duped as completely as he had.

He couldn't help admiring the willful young woman who had confronted him so defiantly that first day. She'd been his equal in every way except physical size and strength—intelligent, arrogant, bold, courageous, yet utterly feminine. Caroline was no weak hothouse flower to wither and die in the tropical heat, no delicate Irish rose unable to survive in the harshness of the real world.

Not like Peggy.

Peggy had never learned the hard lessons of life. She'd been as out of place in the slums of New Orleans's Irish Channel as a flower in a sewer. There had been something in her, something pure and beautiful. She'd had dreams, romantic dreams of finding a way out of the wretched existence they had shared. And once her dreams were killed, she'd been unable to go on living.

A faint, sweet melody floated to him on the air, the sound coming from the salon, a haunting refrain that stirred deep in his soul. He closed his eyes tightly against the pain, the hollow echo of loneliness in his deepest being.

Damn Derek to everlasting hell! It had been a mistake to trust his cousin, a mistake for which he would pay as long as he lived. Caroline would return to New Orleans and start over. She'd find someone else, someone who could give her what she wanted. But Jason knew that he would never forget, nor would the empty place she'd left in his heart ever be filled again.

He hadn't felt such a bottomless ache since Peggy's death, and he'd vowed never to feel it again, never to allow anyone to get that close to him again. And he'd succeeded—until now—until Caroline.

His boots echoed loudly on the hard tile floor as he rushed to the salon, half expecting to find her there bent over the piano, her body swaying with an abandon she seemed incapable of attaining except through that instrument. What greeted him was an empty room. The piano stood silent and forlorn, though the room resonated with the memory of music, as a whisper of her scent clung to the thick air.

It was for the best; she would be better off. She'd find a normal man without the demons that dogged him so relentlessly that he couldn't sleep at night.

Night after night, while the rest of the world slept, he relived the anger and fear and helplessness of his childhood. Caroline couldn't even imagine the kind of life he'd lived—the uncertainty of never knowing when his father would come home drunk and fly into a rage.

He could still hear the sickening sound of fist against flesh as he and Peggy had huddled together in the closet in fear and his father had pummeled his mother until she cowered, sobbing on the floor. He could still feel that same fist battering his own body.

And he could never forget that he was the son of his father—the same hot temper, the same propensity to drink too much, and the same tendency to become mean and dangerous. He'd just found a way to control it—hiding himself away in the jungle.

How had he ever thought he could risk having his own family? He'd come here so he wouldn't have to find out his true nature, so he couldn't get close enough to anyone to hurt them or to be hurt by them. He didn't think he could bear any more pain in his life, and the fact that it frightened him so much that he might actually grow to care for her only added to his self-loathing.

The house seemed to close in around him. It wasn't even his house anymore; she'd made it hers simply by living here, by moving through these rooms. How ironic that the haven he'd built with such care had become a prison. He hadn't even been able to sleep in it any more, not while she was here. Her presence awakened too many desires and fears inside him.

"Ines!" he bellowed, stomping through the house to the kitchen.

The stove was cold, the cabinets clean. Ines hadn't even prepared the noon meal. Where could she be? Had she gone with Caroline? Surely if she had, someone would have left word. Someone would have seen her leave.

Running both hands through his hair, he tried to clear his mind. Every room resounded with Caroline's memory. There were the flowers she'd arranged so carefully, her place at the table, the book left lying face down on the table beside her chair in the salon. Sending her away might be the single greatest mistake he'd ever made in a lifetime rife with mistakes.

Perhaps she could have saved him from himself. More likely, she would have been destroyed in the effort.

One thing was certain, he couldn't stay here alone. He'd go mad for sure. As he stalked into the courtyard, he had no idea where he was going, only that he had to get away, away from the memories lurking in every corner of the house.

As soon as he stepped into the clearing, Jason was surrounded by dozens of small brown-skinned Indians. The men were naked except for a thin cotton waistband. The women wore waistbands too, with aprons of thick cotton fringe about three inches long. Many of the women wore armbands to which they had attached bird feathers and leaves.

As always, he felt like a giant among these tiny people, a large, clumsy giant. The tallest, Socrates, reached only a little above his belt.

"Man from Somewhere Else!" Socrates called in his native tongue. "We haven't seen you in a long time."

Jason smiled at the appellation, remembering the Yanomami custom of not addressing a person by his given name. It was just as well. Since the Yanomami names were unpronounceable to the Europeans who first settled Brazil, the missionaries adopted the habit of giving the natives the most absurd names—like Socrates.

"I hope that you are well, brother-in-law," Jason replied in the same language, using the honorary title that Socrates had bestowed on him when he first came to this area. They walked toward the yano, a huge structure made of palm thatch, about thirty feet tall and several hundred feet in diameter.

"We are very well, yes!" Socrates told him, nodding his head for emphasis. "You will join us for dinner, yes?"

Jason's stomach growled. He'd left the house early that morning to avoid seeing Caroline. Until now, he hadn't realized how hungry he was. He hadn't eaten since dinner last night.

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The meal consisted of banana soup, rice, and smoked monkey. Jason ate at Socrates' hearth in the yano, while the other families of the community went about their business. Several of Socrates' brothers-in-law joined them.

After the meal, Socrates pulled out a long pipe to celebrate the gathering, talking animatedly as he filled the bowl with a mixture of wild tobacco and a ground leaf that produced a powerful hallucinogenic reaction. "So, Man from Somewhere Else, I have heard that you have a woman now—a tall, pale woman like you."

Jason took the proffered pipe. "I had a woman. She's gone now."

"You did not like her?"

Jason held the end of the pipe to his lips. He couldn't refuse to smoke with them without insulting his host, but he'd meant to pretend to inhale. Instead, he took a deep pull, hoping the drug would dull the pain in his heart. Perhaps it would help him forget at least for a little while that he would never see her again.

"She didn't like me," Jason replied, and the men around the circle laughed loudly.

"There is always my sister," Socrates offered, motioning toward the girl with a wave of his brown hand. "She needs a husband."

One of the brothers-in-law in the circle, a man Jason knew as Abraham, reacted by jerking his head around to stare at the woman in question. She sat in a circle of young women a short distance away, laughing and chattering, unaware that her entire life might be decided here tonight.

Abraham glared at Jason, and Jason stifled a smile. "The idea isn't unappealing," he assured Socrates. In fact, Jason had once toyed with the idea of taking an Indian bride but had decided against it. "The Yanomami way and the white man's way are too different. She needs a Yanomami husband."

Jason passed the pipe to Abraham who accepted it with a smile.

"What did you do to make her leave?" Socrates wanted to know. "Did you beat her? Did you insult her family?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Then why did she leave? Why don't you go after her and bring her back?" Jason couldn't answer that, not only because he'd been asking himself the same question ever since he'd heard the boat's whistle that morning, but because the three or four pulls he'd taken on the pipe had rendered him nearly senseless.

But the drug did nothing to dull his mind to the memory of Caroline. She was all he could seem to think about. The Yanomami believed that the drug made the user receptive to communication with the spirits. Jason had never put much store in such superstition, but as his mind dimmed and sensation took over, he felt as if he could actually see Caroline standing on the deck of the mail boat, gazing ahead toward the ocean that would forever separate them.

He remembered little else about that night until he climbed into his hammock much later. Their hammocks were too small, so they had designed one especially for him. Like all the other hammocks, it hung along the inside wall of the yano.

For a long time, Jason stared at the thatched roof, trying not to think, trying to let go and allow the hallucinogen to take control of his mind. It was no use. All he could think of was Caroline floating away from him, never to return.

With the help of the drug, his tormented mind conjured all manner of dangers for her. Sudden violent storms were common on the Amazon; the boat could be swamped and lost in the waves that sometimes rivaled the ocean's. He wondered if she could swim. Probably not.

Then there were rapids that were especially treacherous in the dry season when the river was low and fallen trees lurked beneath the surface to snag even the largest boat.

The boat could be attacked by natives. Granted, such incidents were very unusual, since most of the aborigines of the Amazon desired as little contact with whites as possible, but the drug he'd smoked dulled his reason and sharpened his imagination. When he did finally fall asleep, he even dreamed of piranha tearing the flesh from her body.

"I'm all right, Jason," she assured him, walking toward him, a long white gown flowing around her.

Bending over his hammock, her long, dark hair hanging around her lovely face like a veil, she shrugged the sleeves of the gown from her shoulders and allowed it to fall to the ground. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, smiling as sweetly as an angel.

Reaching up, he smoothed her silky hair, allowing his hand to slide down her soft, luscious flesh, lifting a heavy breast to his lips, kissing the turgid peak tenderly.

He could smell the fragrant perfume that always clung to her, taste the sweet saltiness of her skin. He felt himself grow hard with desire as blood rushed through his body, gathering and swelling between his legs. Her hands roamed over his bare shoulders, caressing, tender, a moan of pleasure escaping her parted lips.

"I love you, Jason," she murmured, her voice thick with passion. "I love you."

He awoke with a start, his body still rigid with desire, his senses still filled with Caroline. Disoriented, confused, shaken by the traces of dreams that still clung to him, he tried to rise, but the crazy rocking of the hammock, combined with the aftereffects of the drug, sent his head reeling.

When the blood finally stopped pounding in his veins and his breathing returned to normal, he rolled from the hammock. His bare feet touched the soft, sandy earth, and he realized he was naked except for a thin, irrelevant waistband similar to what the other men wore.

A groan escaped his lips as he glanced at his arms and his memory began to return, albeit hazily. His arms, chest and legs were covered with dots of red paint, and he knew, though he had no mirror, that his face had been painted as well. He also knew from past experience that the dye wouldn't wear off for at least several days.

What would Caroline think when she saw him like this?

Jason blinked his eyes at that thought, shaking his head to clear the fog. He was going after her. He must have decided sometime in the night.

He didn't know if he was doing the right thing. All he knew was that he couldn't let her go. He didn't expect to ever hear her speak the words she'd spoken in the dream. God, he wasn't even sure he wanted to. He only hoped she wouldn't someday grow to hate him for what he was about to do.

When Socrates heard of Jason's decision, he insisted that he and several men go with him. And while Jason feared that the boat's captain might open fire at sight of a band of naked, painted savages, he knew he'd never catch the steamer without help. His own boats were laden with coffee and virtually useless. He'd have to travel by canoe, and he needed help rowing.

#####

Before they departed, Jason bathed in the river, but the dye remained, as he'd known it would. There was no help for it. All he could do was try and lessen the shock to the boat's crew by concealing as much paint as possible with his clothes and hat and by convincing the Yanomami to remain hidden while he talked with the captain and removed Caroline from the boat.

Overcome by gladness and an urgency to have her with him again, Jason wondered vaguely how he would ever maintain his distance emotionally once this was done. She'd know that he cared enough to go after her; she'd have that much power over him. And as they readied the boats, he worried what would happen if he ever grew to truly love her.

"What do you mean she never got on the boat?" Jason shouted. He stood on the deck of the small mail boat, acutely conscious of the anxious glances exchanged by the boat's crew of two and the half dozen Yanomami in the canoe lashed to the side of the larger vessel.

"Sorry, Mr. Sinclair," the captain said, studying the intricately painted patterns on Jason's face. "Like I said, she didn't show up that morning when we left. We gave a couple of blasts on the whistle, but I figured when she didn't show up, she must've changed her mind."

"Then where the hell can she be?" he asked no one in particular.

"Mr. Sinclair," the captain said hesitantly, "pardon me for saying so sir, but you and your... friends are making my crew a little nervous. I've told you all I know...."

"I'm sorry for the trouble," he said, throwing a leg over the side of the boat. "We'll bother you no further."

When Jason was settled back in the canoe, he explained the situation to his companions, who thought it all quite funny. They pushed away from the mail boat and headed back up the Rio Branco the way they'd come, back to the fazenda.

Damn her, Jason thought, irrationally angry that she hadn't done as he'd said and gotten on the boat. The small part of him that wasn't angry feared for her safety.

Why hadn't she gotten on that boat yesterday? Why hadn't he seen her, or Ines for that matter, since? What if something had happened to her?

Grabbing a paddle, Jason caught the rhythm of the others and rowed with all his might, hoping that she was alive and safe—so he could wring her neck!

The door banged loudly against the inner wall as Jason pushed it open and stepped into Caroline's sitting room. Nothing seemed amiss or out of place there, except for a bouquet of neglected orchids that drooped over the sides of their vase.

He crossed the room and attacked the door to her bedroom with the same fervor he'd used in entering the sitting room. Her bags stood in a pile just inside the door, packed and ready to go. The bed was made, the shutters and windows closed tightly.

Jason slammed the door closed and marched out onto the balcony where Socrates and his friends stood talking and laughing animatedly, obviously enjoying Jason's distress immensely.

"What do you do now?" Socrates asked.

Jason brushed past him and his men without a word.

"Ines!" he called as he crossed the courtyard to the kitchen. "Ines!"

Ines gasped and turned to face him as he stormed into the small room, her eyes wide with surprise and fear. "Patrao, where have you been? I am worrying-"

Jason didn't check his pace but moved toward her like a raging beast out of control. Ines shrunk away from the anger in his eyes, but there was no place to go. He was on her in seconds, grabbing her by the arms and shaking her.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"Please, patrao, I don't know what you mean!"

"Don't lie to me, Ines," he ground out. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. I want to know where Caroline is and I want to know now!"

Ines gazed past Jason at the curious natives who stood in the doorway. Her eyes widened as she recognized them as Yanomami, the most feared people of the Amazon. She'd known about Master Jason's friendship with them, but he rarely allowed them to come to the house.

"Ines, tell me!"

"Patrao, you are hurting me!"

Horror streaked through him and he released her immediately, stepping back from her, gazing in dismay at his hands. What was happening to him? He was walking a thin line, losing control more and more often.

"I'm sorry, Ines," he muttered, running his hands through his hair, struggling to still the intense anger that clung to him like a heavy morning mist. Was it Caroline's audacity that drove him toward unconstrained fury or was it only his father's legacy coming to the fore? Either way, he had to maintain the iron restraint he'd always practiced.

"There is a slave village," Ines was saying.

"Runaways?" Anger began to boil inside him once again, but this time he managed to defeat it. "Of all the reckless, irresponsible.... Where?"

Ines shook her head negatively, glancing past Jason at the savages who stood at the door of her kitchen, then back at Jason. "I will take you to her."