Wednesday's Words: The Andean Adventure, Chapter 2

 On Memorial Day, we went to the movies for the first time in ages. 15 months? Pre-pandemic, we went to the movies three or four times a month. I found the whole experience sort of surreal. A nearly deserted parking. An almost empty lobby. No lines waiting for tickets or popcorn. There were maybe three other groups of people in the seats--so maybe twenty people in a room built for hundreds. We saw Cruella. I really liked it, except we had brought six little kids and it really wasn't a kids' movie. I was thinking it would something along the lines of A 101 Dalmations--and sure, there were dalmations, but they were attack dogs...still, the kids, plied with popcorn and M&Ms, had a good time.

What struck me most, though, was the preview of Disney's Jungle Cruise. Several weeks ago, I decided to move the location of my Andean Adventure to the Brazilian rain forest. That action film looked suspiciously like my own book. This is not the first time something like this has happened to me. Shortly after I had written Beyond the Hollow, (since retitled as Timeless) a book set in Washington Irving's Sleepy Hollow, the TV show Sleepy Hollow came out. After I had written two and half books in my Rose Harbor series, Debbie Macomber came out with her own Rose Arbor series which was also set in a small fictional, coastal Washington town.

I don't know why these things happen, but since this is my third rodeo of coincidences, I'm okay with it. So, yes, my current work in progress will probably seem a lot like Disney's Jungle Cruise, but I don't it involves time travel and I know it doesn't have my characters, or voice, or most other things.

Anyway, here is chapter two of The Andean Adventure. (But since I moved it to the rain forest, I'll probably come up with another name. If you missed chapter one, you can read it here.)

Frustration rippled through DeeDee. Now what? Take cover from the gunfire? But that had seemed to disappear along with her rescuer. What about the man wearing the boots? DeeDee scooped up her bag and picked her way back to where she’d seen the boots, silently praying the driver was still alive, although, she didn’t know what she’d do if he was. It wasn’t as if she could carry him to civilization. She wasn’t even sure she’d be able to get him back into the jeep.

Did she have a cell phone? And would it have reception in this jungle?

Knowing Mom must have packed her bag, she almost didn’t want to even look in it. But, of course, she did. She rifled past the granola bar, a packaged muffin, an unopened water bottle—no wonder the bag had been so heavy—and found two sealed envelopes. One had her name written on it in Mom’s handwriting, the other was addressed and had a foreign, ancient looking stamp and postage stamp in the corner. She found the cell phone and checked for service.

Nothing.

She tucked the device back into her bag and waded through the weeds. She approached the boots with a hammering heart. She let out a whoosh of relief when she found the boots were just that. Boots. No bleeding or bruised driver attached.

After only a moment of internal debate, she slipped on the boots. They rattled around on her feet, but she cinched the laces up as tight as she could make them. Glancing around, she spotted a hat and what could be a jacket. The hat rode low over her eyes and she had to push it back so she could see. The jacket reeked of tobacco and beer. She didn’t try it on, but held onto it in case the night turned cold.

Nonsense. I’ll be home before dark, she told herself. But even in her own head, it sounded and felt like a lie. Next, she turned her attention to the smoking jeep. Whomever had been driving it had taken the keys.

Who was that man? And how did he know her name?

DeeDee wandered to the side of the road and leaned against a split rail fence. A curious pair of llamas trotted over to watch her dig back into her bag. The two envelopes stared up at her. She selected the one with Mom’s handwriting on it and pulled out a handwritten note. She ignored the other folded papers.

Darling Dee,

I have no clue where this adventure will take you, but I wish you love. If your journey is anything like mine, Celia’s, or Joel’s, you may have the good fortune to bump into one of your ancestors.

DeeDee blew out a breath. Of course, Mom would assume the Witching Well water would cause her time travel, but DeeDee didn’t believe the time travel stories. Oh, she might believe the water from the Witching Well had some sort of hallucinogenic properties such as the old legends claimed—even the modern-day scientists agreed this could be the case. And sure, something had happened for Jason and Celia—they’d both drank from the well and had fallen in love in a fast and furious way. That much was true. But what happened prior to that was nothing more than a flight of their imaginations. Sometimes the lines between imagination and lunacy are shadowy.

DeeDee had seen her friends’ aging parents lose their grip on reality, and now it was happening to her mom. Mom had been the rock to which DeeDee had to tied her boat. A safe shelter in DeeDee’s turbulent and stormy life. DeeDee had fallen into one early marriage with disastrous results, and after years of struggling in a parent/child relationship, she finally realized she had tried to create a father figure out of her husband.

It hadn’t been fair to either of them. It had been a mistake. When she tried to find her own feet and voice, Brace had left. The second marriage had been fast and furious resulting in beautiful children but very little else. Thinking of her family and home, DeeDee blinked away a sudden tear.

She picked the letter up and resumed reading. The sooner she solved this puzzle, the sooner she’d return home.

 Of course, I wouldn’t presume to predict where the universe may send you, but I have a dearest wish you’ll get the chance to meet my mother.

She was a remarkable woman. You are much like her—brave, strong, witty, and passionately kind. But whereas you have been blessed with a responsible streak, she had a much more adventurous spirit. As I’m sure you are aware, any virtue taken to an extreme can become a vice.

My mother lived an untethered life, flitting from one wild adventure to the next. One of her, some would call, hairbrained passions had been the search for the Lost City of Caesars. Somewhere, somehow, she’d gained possession of this map that I’ve included in the bag.

I went to the library and had a nice librarian help me with a little research. Do you know Mattie? Such a nice lady. You’d like her. When you get back, you’ll have to get acquainted. I’m sure the two of you would be great friends. She runs a local book club that you’d probably enjoy if you ever took the time to do anything other than work.

But I digress.

Mattie sat with me and helped me pull up some information on the legend of the Lost City of Caesars on the World Wide Web.

DeeDee dropped the letter into her lap. Incredible. How long had Mom been planning this? It must have been a while. This wasn’t some spontaneous I’m angry at my disapproving daughter and I want some sexy alone time with this bum off the street thing. No. Mom had gone to the library and enlisted some poor civil servant to help in this elaborate delusion. With another disgruntled huff, DeeDee plucked the letter back up and continued to read.

Darling, I know what you’re thinking. And I know how angry you’ll be. If I were there, you’d undoubtedly call me interfering, presumptuous, and meddlesome. And all of those things are true.

It’s also true that we humans have no control over where the water from the Witching Well may take us, but I do believe the Universe loves us and only wants what’s best for us. I can’t say what surprises lie in store for you. That’s part of the magic. But if, by any chance, you find yourself in Latin America, I hope this map may come in handy.

Much love,

Mom

Anger bubbled in DeeDee’s gut. The emotions mingled with something else—something easy to define. Hunger. Mom might be a lunatic, but at least she’d packed a granola bar. Dee dropped the letter back into her bag, and pulled out the snack along with the other envelope.

The yellowing paper felt brittle beneath her fingers. Her grandmother—this impetuous, shadowy memory from DeeDee’s past—had touched this very envelope. The knowledge sent an odd trill down her spine. She pulled out the paper. It was a map drawn with precision and care. Mountains. Rivers, a town called Punto de Parada.

Dotted lines marked the way, but did they represent roads or trails? DeeDee glanced around at the thick foliage threatening to spill over the fence. It wouldn’t take long for the jungle to engulf anything man-made.

How old was this map? She turned it over, searching for clues. Not finding anything, she carefully folded it, tucked it back in her bag, and unwrapped the granola bar.

A llama edged closer. DeeDee turned her back to the creature, bit into her snack, and contemplated her next move. Should she try and follow the map? Or just try to return to Connecticut? If she could find the Witching Well, and drink from it, would it take her home? Or somewhere else? This place wasn’t optimal, but at least she wasn’t hanging with dinosaurs, trapped in a concentration camp, or surrounded by lions. Things were bad, but they could always be worse. She slid the llama a warning glance when he got too close.

Curious and no longer hungry, she brushed her fingers off on her nightie, plucked the other envelope from her bag, and began to read what Librarian Maddy had found on the Lost City of the Caesars.

An expedition led by Gutierre Vargas de Carvajal in 1539 ended in shipwreck while attempted to pass through the Strait of Magellan. Rumor has it one of the captains and 150 men survived and found refuge in the Andes with native tribes. Some thirty years later, two men appeared in Concepción claiming to be among the survivors. They claimed other survivors had settled in southern Chile in a land full of treasure. A number of unfruitful expeditions were organized in the 16th century to find “The City of the Caesars,” but most ended in tragedy. Many died sailing the stormy seas off the Patagonian coast.

While many explorers and treasure hunters have died, the legend still survives. It is said “the enchanted city cannot be discovered by any traveler... for every time a traveler comes too near, a thick fog rises up between him and the city and the rivers change course to bear the traveler away...” Still, those brave souls who dare are able to see from afar the gleaming domes and towers made of silver and gold. Those who live there are the very same who constructed the buildings, because there no one is born and no one dies. The day the city becomes disenchanted is the day the world ends.”

 

Despite the map in her hand, DeeDee wasn’t interested in lost cities. She was much more interested in getting herself unlost. Not knowing which way to go, she took the road downhill. Why climb if it wasn’t necessary? The boots knocked around on her feet. The dirt road wandered past a few ramshackle farms with hungry goats, knock-kneed cows, straggly cats and surly dogs. No humans. She hadn’t a guess as to where she was or even when she was, but the Spanish-speaking man had given her a clue as did the weather. At home, it had been snowing. Here, it was sunny and warm. So, she was probably somewhere on the Southern Continent. The monkeys, as well as the palm trees swaying above her head, suggested she was somewhere closer to Central America.

Now, decades after graduation from high school, she wished she had paid more attention in her Spanish classes. Of course, she didn’t know if she was in a Spanish-speaking country just because one man chose to speak Spanish.

Who had been shooting at him, or, scary thought, had they been shooting at her? All the unanswered questions rattling around in the back of her head spurred her forward.

DeeDee forgot her resolution of sitting and waiting for the delusion to pass as the sun sunk lower toward the trees. Spending the night alone in the jungle with gunmen shooting in random directions pressed her toward what she hoped would be civilization. The longer she walked the pastures between the ramshackle farms shrank. She took this as a good sign that she was getting closer to town or a settlement of some sort.

After hobbling in her too-big boots and offering up silent prayers that the tiny prick in the back of the heel wouldn’t become infected, DeeDee eventually found a town…of sorts. Wooden buildings. Donkey pulled carts filled with vegetables and sacks of grain. Men and women and draped in bright colored cloths and blankets. Most appeared to be indigenous to the area, but there were a few of clearly European dissent.

She knew from her days of being infatuated with the musical Evita that after World War II many European settlers flocked to Latin America. Now, she hoped she wasn’t going to run into bands of marauders. Memories of Indiana Jones and The Raiders of the Lost Ark filled her head. No matter how much she’d loved the movie, she had no desire to recreate Indie and Mariam’s flight from the Nazis.

That won’t happen to me, she promised herself. This is my delusion. I can decide who comes and who goes. She should be able to cast the starring roles of her own delusion.

But, if she remembered correctly, that’s not how it happened for Mom. Supposedly she had met Hans 60 years ago and then he—in typical manly fashion—had quickly disappeared.

DeeDee had long learned life rarely follows a well-thought-out agenda. What was that cliché? Make plans and God laughs?

DeeDee paused near a motley assortment of donkeys and horses tied to a split rail fence. They pawed their hooves and flung their tails in a greeting. DeeDee couldn’t read the words painted above the wide swinging doors of a wooden building, but she guessed it was a tavern because of the tinkling sound of a piano and unmistakable odor of alcohol.

She had given up drinking as soon as she’d received her diagnosis. It hadn’t been a hard transition. She’d missed coffee, though. She’d thought after she’d been declared cancer-free she would go back to her morning brew, but she found after such a long absence the headaches that inevitably accompanied the caffeine weren’t worth the price.

The tavern held no charm for her, either, but she peeked through the doors at the people gathered inside: men pressed up against the bar, women toting jugs of ale, elderly slouched around a table and studying a chess game. If nothing else, someone could tell her where she was, and more importantly, when she was.

Knowing that even by twenty-first century standards she was scantily dressed, DeeDee braced her shoulders and pushed through the open door. She joined the men seated at the bar and waved to the bartender.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Can you tell me where I am?”

The bartender, who have been wiping down a glass set it in front of her and cocked an eyebrow. He let loose a stream of Spanish.

DeeDee listened for familiar words before realizing all the Spanish words she knew were somehow food related. She didn’t even know if they ate tacos, enchiladas or nachos in this strange world, after all traditional Mexican food wouldn’t be necessarily prevalent in most of Latin America.

“Does anyone here speak English?” she asked. When the bartender looked at her blankly, she tried again. “Habla Española?”

 No. She’d just asked if he spoke Spanish. Habla usted Inglés? She tacked on por favor for good measure. The bartender took the rag that he had been using to wipe down glasses and flagged at someone across the room.

DeeDee looked over her shoulder and was only marginally surprised to see the man that she had met earlier coming her way. How had he gotten here before her? Hadn’t he run his jeep into a tree?

Even though he had left her alone with unseen assailants, she was glad to see him. He, at least, spoke English. And maybe he could answer some of her questions. DeeDee rushed toward him.

“Thank heavens an English speaker,” she said.

“How are you, Delia?”

She froze beneath his frosty gaze. How did they know each other? A foggy memory returned. Her grandmother—her namesake—had live somewhere in Latin America in the 1940s and 50s. Of course. Her thoughts stammered.

“How do we know each other?” she asked.

He blinked at her. “You have to be kidding me.”

“No, not kidding,” she assured him. “You obviously know me, but I haven’t a clue of how we met, or who you are.” She glanced. “I’m not even sure where I am or what’s today’s date.”

“Wow. So many questions.” The quirk of his lips told her he didn’t believe her.

“Lots and lots of questions.” She gave him what she hoped was her most innocent and least duplicitous smile.

“Well, I can’t promise any answers, he said.

“At least you speak my language,” she said.

He laughed and it was a warm deep sound coming from his chest. “You could say that.” He stuck out his hand. “Liam Hastings, at your service.”

She placed her hand in his. A thrill passed up her arm and she quickly dropped her hand to her side. Who was this person? Could he be her grandfather? According to Mom, Delia had never married. “I’m DeeDee Fleur.”

“I know who you are,” he said in a cold tone. “Although, I’ve never heard you call yourself DeeDee.” He cocked his head. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“It’s my name.”

“Not to me.”

“Listen, I know that this will sound crazy,” DeeDee said. “But can you tell me where and more importantly when I am.”

He gave her the same blank stare the bartender had even though she knew he understood what she was asking.

“Where and when do you think you are?”

“I’m not sure.” She touched her forehead. “I must have hit my head. I can’t remember…much.” DeeDee’s thoughts scrambled over her memories. Grandma had been a contemporary of Hemingway, but instead of enlisting in the Spanish War she’d fled to São Paulo. That’s where she was! She was in Brazil. No wonder the language didn’t sound quite Spanish. She’d been hearing Portuguese. Happy she’d placed at least one piece of the puzzle together, she settled her gaze on Liam. How did he fit into the equation?

She had no idea. Grasping Liam’s hand, she waited for the thrill. When it returned, it didn’t surprise her, but gave her a sense of ease. “You have to help me. I don’t know how I got here. In fact, I can’t even remember my own address. Do you know where I live? Could you take me there?”

As she spoke, A plan of sorts formed in her head. Liam Hastings had just confirmed what she had always been told—she looked a lot like her grandmother. Would Delia help her? Better question—would she even believe her? But looks couldn’t lie, right? DeeDee tried to remember what she had heard about her grandmother from Mom.

Delia had been far more interested in adventure than motherhood. Still, Mom had worshipped her mother, and that’s why she had named her only daughter after her. There had to be some warm maternal instincts that would kick in if DeeDee suddenly appeared on Delia’s doorstep. Right?

Liam Hastings threw back his head and laughed. “Girlie, we are miles from São Paulo.”

Would Delia help her secure passage, if not to Connecticut, than at least the Florida Keys? Of course, in her grandmother’s time, travel was a lot more complicated and difficult than it was in twenty-first century. She couldn’t just hop on a plane. Could she? What year was it, anyway? She had to ask.

Suspicion mingled with concern and flitted over Liam’s handsome face.

“You really don’t know?”

“I really don’t.” She tried to look as innocent as possible.

“1947.”

“Well, that’s a relief. The war is over.” Another thought occurred to her. “Who was shooting at you?”

“What makes you think they were shooting me? How do you know they weren’t shooting at you?”