The Adventures of Grace Quinlan and Lord William Hayden in the African Jungle (Golden Sofala) Volume 5

By Paula Freda

Excerpt: ...Despite her exhaustion and the comfort of Lord Hayden’s arms, she slept fitfully. Her fear of the river crashing through the walls and trapping her and Lord Hayden into a drowning death, reared up vividly in her subconscious mind. Rock imploded as water gushed in, filling the tunnels. Water entered her nostrils and pushed against her mouth. She felt no grief because, oddly, she knew she was dreaming. Yet the threat of drowning felt real. She used her hands and arms to propel herself up until her head cleared the surface, where she beheld an island, from which rose a crystal castle. Then suddenly, the water vanished and she found herself standing in the vestibule of the castle, able to see through the crystal walls, except for the upper floors where the crystal was frosted. As in a trance, she walked until she came to a courtyard. In its center a fountain gushed a thick column of water as high as the eye could see, and even higher. Sensing a presence, she looked down. A bearded monk knelt at the fountain’s base, washing his face and hands in the sparkling water. His ablution completed, he cupped his hands and drank from the fountain.
When he had savored his fill, he turned and faced her. She beheld a benign face with deep-set eyes, the color of warm, churned earth. The eyes widened in surprise, then softened with a smile. His voice resounded strongly, yet not harshly, melodious as though carried on the wings of angels. "Welcome, gentle spirit. You bring me solace and company. Come and share a drink with me, and tell me of your purpose."
The fear she had felt about the river melted away at the sound of that voice and his smile. She drew close to the monk and accepted the water from his cupped hands. It tasted clean and cool, and as she swallowed, a feeling of perfect calm spread through her, rendering her light and carefree, as if she were no more than a wispy cloud, floating. The monk watched, still smiling, his gaze benevolent, giving. She did not speak, yet he was listening to her telling him all about herself, everything, from her earliest recollections to her present circumstances. So much she revealed, yet but a moment passed.
"You are one of them," the monk spoke reverently. "One of the gentle dreamers and preservers. Your spirit warms the cold night and evaporates the dampness; it brings the dawn and the warmth of the sun." He touched her shoulder, and Elizabeth felt the wind at her back. "Gentle spirit," he continued. "When you come to my resting place, replace the Cross of my Savior, and I will bless you and your loved ones with streams of molten gold from the heavens. Will you promise?"
Elizabeth did not question him. The sense of ethereality was so great, she nodded, her only desire to requite this communion of the spirit. "I promise," she said. The monk lifted his hand from her shoulder, and immediately she felt saddened. Then, something was pulling her back physically. Elizabeth resisted.
"Go back, gentle spirit," the monk advised her. "You are needed; there is danger." He pointed to the space behind her.
Elizabeth turned her head, and suddenly realized her eyes were closed. She opened them to see Lord Hayden’s unshaven face bending over hers, and his harried voice telling her, "Elizabeth, honey, wake up! There’s trouble!"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paula Freda
• Release date: Jul 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466044487

Paula Freda

About the Author Dorothy Paula Freda, is also known under her pen names Paula Freda and Marianne Dora Rose. Her books range from Fiction and Non-fiction Adventure, Romance, Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Poetry, Articles, Essays and How-to-Write Instructional complete with Lessons and optional assignments. Homemaker, mother of two grown sons, and former off-the-desk publisher of a family-oriented print small press, (1984 thru 1999), The Pink Chameleon, that she now publishes on line, Paula was raised by her grandmother and mother, and has been writing for as long as she can remember. Even before she could set pencil to paper, she would spin her stories in the recording booths in the Brooklyn Coney Island Arcades for a quarter per 3-minute record. She states, "I love the English language, love words and seeing them on display, typed and alive. A romantic at heart, I write simply and emotionally. One of my former editors kindly described my work, '...her pieces are always deep, gentle and refreshing....'" Paula further states, "My stories are sensitive, deeply emotional, sensual when appropriate, yet non-graphic, family fare, pageturners. My hope is that my writing will bring entertainment and uplift the human spirit, bring a smile to your face and your soul, and leave you filled with a generous amount of hope."

Book preview

The Adventures of Grace Quinlan and Lord William Hayden

in the African Jungle

(Golden Sofala)

Volume 5

Copyright 2005 - 2011

by Dorothy Paula Freda

(Pseudonym - Paula Freda)

Cover photo and inserts licensed by Paula Freda from Istockphoto.com

Smashwords Edition

Author retains all rights.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof.

This story appeared in my novel In Another Life (from the Journals of Grace Quinlan and Lord William Hayden) under my pseudonym, Paula Freda. It is a work of fiction. Except for documented historical data and geographical locations, all names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

With thanks to my Lord Jesus and his Blessed Mother Mary whose strength, guidance, and her Holy Rosary, are my anchor in this troubled world, I dedicate this novella to my husband, whose love, patience and kindness over the past 40 years have kept my dreams and my view of the romantic, alive and vibrant." –Paula Freda

The Adventures of Grace Quinlan and Lord William Hayden

in the African Jungle

(Golden Sofala)

CHAPTER ONE

Three months, three haunting, endless months without Grace. Lord Hayden checked his desk calendar. His next class was a study period. A stack of test papers awaited his attention. He removed his glasses to rub his eyes tiredly. Even his clothes appeared tired. He had forgotten to take his suits to the laundry last week. The dark maroon tweed he wore today bore several wrinkles. He had also forgotten to retrieve his reference book on Medieval Artifacts, the subject of his next class. He had lent the volume to Professor Eldridge and needed it to supplement his lecture. He folded his glasses and slid them into their case in his breast pocket. Rising, he left the room to cross the hall to her class.

With five minutes more to the beginning of the next period, Elizabeth’s students had not yet arrived. Through the upper part of the door paned with glass, Elizabeth was clearly visible standing in front of the blackboard. Lord Hayden reached for the doorknob, when what appeared to be an equation she had written on the blackboard distracted him.

Elizabeth/Grace x Lord Hayden x the truth = Contempt.

Grace Quinlan/Professor Elizabeth Eldridge contemplated the equation she had drawn on the blackboard in an irrepressible moment of self-pity, day after day, reliving each moment of her adventures with Lord Hayden. How sweet, until the bitterness of reality intruded. If only she had had the courage to confess her true identity during their first expeditions together, he might have forgiven her by now. Those moments they had shared between life and death might have dissolved his certain anger at her deception, perhaps even justified her reasons.

It had taken all her willpower not to accept his marriage proposal, and every ounce of propriety and prudence not to remain and share herself completely with him. Too late now, too long a deception. He would never forgive her now, and would hold her in utter contempt. Never again would he ask her to accompany him on his archaeological excursions, or share his thoughts with her.

The bell announcing the beginning of the next period reverberated through the building. Filled with unhappiness and anger at herself, she scrubbed the eraser across the board before anyone came into the room.

Often truth stares one in the face, but remains unseen until a certain instant when it becomes so obvious that even a dolt can recognize it. Today, Lord Hayden reflected, he was the dolt. The students filing past him into class, noticed the scowl on his face, and wondered why he was staring at Professor Eldridge as though he would like to murder her.

Professor, the Dean, tapped Hayden’s shoulder. Passing through the hall, he, too, had noticed Hayden watching Professor Eldridge through the door. So you’ve heard, he said. It’s a pity, losing one of our best teachers.

What? Lord Hayden turned to the Dean.

Dr. Eldridge, the dean replied, reading the puzzled look, she’s leaving us.

All the anger drained from Lord Hayden, and his gaze riveted on the grey-haired man, almost as tall as himself, and clad in a dark brown pin-stripe suit. What do you mean, she’s leaving us?

"I thought surely she had told you... your close association. But I see she didn’t. I’m sorry, Lord Hayden. I would have spoken to you sooner. She handed in her resignation two days ago, giving as her reason, not feeling up to carrying on her duties; considering retiring from the teaching profession altogether. She broke down in