Forever, For Love

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  “Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!” Ward answered, laughing. “I’m taking you to a museum.”

  Pandora’s enthusiasm cooled slightly. “Oh, Ward, there isn’t a museum in the whole city that I haven’t visited a dozen times.”

  “Would you care to lay a small bet on that?” He fished into his pocket and brought out a shiny silver dollar.

  Pandora matched his with one from her beaded bag. “All right. Tell me! What museum?”

  “Only a few steps away, at the corner of Fifth Avenue and West Twenty-third, the Eden Musée.” He turned to her, making a hideous face. “Have you ever experienced its waxwork chamber of horrors?”

  With a slight shudder of mixed dread and delight, Pandora pressed her coin into his outstretched hand. “Never!” she said. “I’ve never even heard of the place.”

  “Well, dear lady, you’re in for a grisly treat, I promise you. We’ll see tableaux of the world’s most notorious crimes, some of them unsolved to this very day.”

  “Sounds utterly, gruesomely delightful!” she responded with a shiver.

  “If you’d rather not…”

  “Nonsense, Mr. Gabriel. Lead me to your horror show!”

  The Eden Musée was housed in a rickety wooden structure that seemed to hold itself up by leaning into the more solid building next door. The facade was painted to resemble a marble temple, complete with plaster columns and a horrible copy of the Venus de Milo done in some crumbling, chalky substance.

  “Why on earth would they put her outside a chamber of horrors?” Pandora asked, trying to hide her slight nervousness.

  “Quite simple, actually,” Ward quipped. “Her arms. No one has ever solved that crime. Who chopped them off?”

  Pandora gave an exaggerated groan.

  “Two, please.” Ward paid for the pair of twenty-five cent tickets and they entered the strange little building, following a narrow, dungeon-like corridor that led to a flight of stairs.

  Pandora held Ward’s arm tightly. Flickering candles spaced along the walls lighted their way, and the floor was rough and uneven. The stairs, leading down into the basement chamber, ended at a tattered curtain. The gloom of the place was exceeded only by its deathly silence. Pandora began to feel uneasy. She tightened her grip on Ward’s arm.

  “Last chance!” he warned her with an evil-sounding chuckle. “You must turn back now or endure what lies ahead.”

  “Stop teasing me, Ward! Of course I won’t turn back. But I warn you, if I suffer heart failure, my death is on your head.”

  At this early hour, they were the only two visitors to the museum. Pandora felt the hair on her neck rise as their footsteps echoed in the empty, unlighted chamber.

  “How are we supposed to see anything?” she complained to Ward. “Why, I can’t see the nose on my face it’s so dark.”

  Suddenly, as if by magic, dim lights came on before them. Pandora gasped, and sank her nails into Ward’s arm, feeling her heart pound at the unexpected scene of gore before them. Julius Caesar, his toga slashed and dripping blood, and the wild-eyed Brutus poised to strike the killing blow, were close enough that Pandora might have reached out and touched the lifelike figures had she dared.

  “How ghastly!” she breathed. “Oh, Ward!” She turned her face into his shoulder. “I may be sick.”

  Ward put his arms around her and drew her close, whispering, “There, there! It’s only make-believe.”

  She pulled away, angry at her own reaction. “I know that. It was just that the lights came on so suddenly and I wasn’t expecting to see that right before my eyes. Let’s move on.”

  They walked around a bend in the corridor to come face to face with President Abraham Lincoln, his eyes wide and staring blankly as he slumped in his rocking chair. Behind him in the replica of the Presidential Box at Ford’s Theater stood John Wilkes Booth, his deadly pistol still in his hand.

  Pandora was over her initial shock. Her heart didn’t flutter quite as furiously as she viewed the presidential assassination or Jack the Ripper slashing a young maid from stem to stern or Captain William Kidd, hanging by the neck until dead, even though the infamous pirate’s eyes bulged and his wax tongue lolled out of his mouth at a grotesque angle.

  Ward moved slightly ahead of Pandora and called to her excitedly. “Come look at this! They’ve added a new attraction since I was here last.”

  “What on earth?” Pandora gasped, her hand flying to her dry throat. “Oh, that’s horrible!”

  “It was a horrible crime,” Ward assured her. “Haven’t you followed the case of the Borden murders in the papers?”

  Pandora was barely listening, her attention focused on the grisly tableau—a wild-eyed woman with a bloody axe raised over two hacked-up bodies at her feet. She glanced at the tablet on the wall that identified the crime: “Lizzie Borden executes her father and stepmother with an axe. August 4, 1892, Fall River, Massachusetts.”

  “Only in New York!” Ward mused aloud, “Why, poor Lizzie hasn’t even gone to trial yet, and the Eden Musée has convicted her already!”

  “Ward, please,” Pandora whispered. “Let’s go! I think I’ve seen enough.”

  He took her arm, frowning into her pale face with genuine concern. “I’m sorry, Pan. I had no idea the place would scare you so. We have to go all the way through to get out. Close your eyes, if you like. I’ll lead you and you won’t have to look at the rest.”

  She did just that. She had no desire to see any further gore. They hurried along, Ward keeping a firm grip on Pandora’s waist so she wouldn’t stumble. She kept her eyes tightly shut, one hand over them just in case. When Ward stopped suddenly, and she felt him go rigid beside her, without even thinking, she looked.

  Pandora’s scream reverberated down the winding corridor. The museum attendant, hearing the awful sound and wondering if one of his wax murderers had suddenly sprung to life, ran to locate his two customers.

  He found the red-haired woman stretched out on the floor with her gentleman friend kneeling over her, chafing her wrists and pleading with her to wake up.

  Ward was feeling none too steady himself as he assured the ticket seller that the lady had only fainted. “Get me a glass of water. That should revive her.”

  Still bending over the unconscious Pandora, Ward glanced up at the scene that had caused such a violent reaction in him and had promptly sent her into a swoon. The tablet beside the scene read: “Pirate Jean Laffite’s wife dies in his arms, murdered by some unseen hand. Galveston Island, 1821.”

  Pandora was unaware of Ward Gabriel’s presence. She never knew that the museum attendant was there, that she had fainted, or that Ward carried her in his arms all the way back to the hotel and up to her bed. All she saw was a deserted beach and her green-eyed stranger, Jean Laffite, his face a mask of agony as the ebony-haired woman in his arms closed her eyes in death, a red stain drenching the breast of her peasant blouse.

  The report of a pistol still echoed in Pandora’s ears; she still felt the sharp, hot pain of the bullet tearing into her own flesh. She could hear Laffite’s anguished words: “No! My God, no! You can’t leave me. I love you, darling, too much… too much to let you go.”

  Dense gray fog shrouded the scene suddenly. When Pandora could see again, she spied Laffite’s dead wife, lying stiff and cold in her plain coffin. The man—red-eyed from weeping, his face drawn and pale—reached out and removed the two Spanish silver coins from her closed eyes to look on her face one last time.

  “Our love is not dead, my darling,” he said in a husky whisper. “We’ll be together again. I promise you.”

  He placed the coins in a small wooden box and closed the lid gently. Pandora watched, feeling her own heart break for him, as he closed the coffin lid as well. Pandora’s vision followed him to a grove near the sandy beach where she saw him bury both boxes.

  Pandora gasped for breath as she slept. She felt like she was inside that coffin. She experienced a terrible burning pain
in her breast. There was also a sense of deep relief, brought by the man’s parting words.

  “Nothing is forever, except our love,” she had heard him whisper as he lowered the coffin into its sandy grave.

  Suddenly, the scene vanished in a sea of swirling colors. The grove disappeared. The burning pain in her chest and heart was gone, replaced by another sort of agony. Her belly cramped, forcing a scream from her lips.

  “Breathe deeply, darling,” a man’s familiar voice told her. “You can do it. Try to relax.”

  A cool hand caressed her sweating brow. Warm lips pressed hers. She opened her eyes to find herself staring into his. They were dark green, the color of deep sea water. She tried to smile for him, but she was too weary and the pain was too great. His nearness and his voice gave her strength.

  He took her small hand in his and held it. “When the pain comes again, darling, hang on to me. We’ll do this together, you and I. We made this child with our love, we’ll see it into the world the very same way.”

  His courage and compassion bolstered her through the next hours of labor. The sea tossed fitfully beneath their ship as if it too were experiencing her pains. At last, the moment came. Jean Laffite knelt to help his child into the world.

  “It’s a girl!” There was wonder in his voice as he said the words.

  “We’ll name her Jeannette for her father,” the mother said weakly. He was a good, brave man not to show his disappointment. She knew he had hoped for a son. There would be other children, many sons in the years ahead, she hoped.

  As the sun sank into the sea, the young mother lay on her pallet with her baby at her breast. Laffite, looking tired, but smiling with love and wonder, watched as the child suckled hungrily.

  “You are a marvel, my darling. How can any woman endure such pain?” He shook his head and ran his fingers through his tousled, sun-bleached brown hair.

  “We do it for love,” she answered tenderly.

  He came to her and kissed her gently. “Then you have plenty of reason, my darling. I’ve never loved you more than I do at this moment—not the first time we met at your father’s house in New Orleans, or that tragic evening when I saw you off to Paris, or even the night we jumped the broomstick on the beach at Barataria. The depth of love I have for you now is as newly-born as our little daughter, and yet I feel as if I’ve loved you since the beginning of time. I know I’ll love you until its end.”

  Suddenly, unbidden tears sprang to her eyes and a pain tugged at her heart as she looked into his dear face. Something was wrong! Not with the baby or with her or with him. Something was wrong with time!

  “Let’s make a pact, Jean,” she whispered. “Should anything happen to separate us, let’s vow to find each other again, no matter what it takes.”

  He frowned at her, then laughed softly, winding one long ebony curl around his suntanned finger. “What could separate us, darling? You’re only suffering a case of nerves after what you’ve been through today.”

  “Promise me, Jean!” she begged urgently.

  He leaned down and kissed her damp forehead. “I promise, my darling. Whatever happens, we’ll find a way to be together always.”

  Little Jeannette had fallen asleep at her mother’s breast. Soon both of Laffite’s ladies gave in to their weariness. The sun sank out of sight. Stars twinkled overhead. The moon rose, silvering the Gulf of Mexico. A kind wind sped the good ship Pride, with her captain, his family, and crew, ever closer to their new home.

  “I think we should send for a doctor, Cass.” Ward’s voice was edged with panic. “It’s been almost an hour. She should have come around by now.”

  Cassie’s dark face was filled with concern. “It’s one of her spells, Mr. Gabriel. She has them from time to time, but the last one I saw this bad was right after her mama and papa was killed. What you reckon brought it on?”

  Ward shook his head and sighed. “It’s all my fault. As a lark, I took her to a chamber of horrors. She grew quite nervous. We were on our way out when we came to a frightening depiction of the death of Jean Laffite’s wife. I have to admit, it jolted my senses.” He shuddered slightly, remembering the lifelike tableau. “I don’t know what it was about that particular scene. The figures looked so real. The woman was so fragile and lovely. The pain in Laffite’s face… it was simply indescribable! I know it sounds crazy, but for an instant I actually felt his anguish.”

  Pandora began thrashing about in bed, moaning and crying. Ward sat down beside her quickly and gripped her arms to keep her from hurting herself. Suddenly she stopped fighting and smiled. She relaxed visibly.

  “Yes, this will be perfect, darling,” she murmured.

  “Pandora? Pandora, can you hear me?” Ward begged.

  She could not. She heard the gentle lap of the waves, the cry of the gulls overhead, the squeak of the warm sand beneath her bare feet, and the contented gurgle of the baby in her arms.

  “We’ll build our house on the bay side of the island,” the tall man beside her said. “That way we’ll be sheltered from the worst of the blow when storms roll in.”

  “A lovely, big house, with lots of room for our family to grow.” She smiled up at him, a clear invitation in her blue-black eyes.

  Laffite gave a shrill whistle. A young black boy came running.

  “Yessir, Boss! What you want me for?”

  “Here, ’Gator-Bait, hold the baby a minute.”

  “Yessir!” The boy’s eyes danced with delight as he struggled to manage the tiny, squirming bundle.

  “Now,” Laffite said, turning to the woman, “what was that about a big house… a growing family?”

  She smiled shyly and dug her toes into the sand. “Well, not yet!” she answered. “But soon, I hope.”

  Then she saw why Laffite had summoned ’Gator-Bait to hold the baby. He hadn’t wanted to crush their daughter when he took her into his arms.

  She could feel the sweat from his bare chest soaking her blouse as he held her. Her hands slid around his lean waist, feeling the rough scars on his sides and back—a saber wound, the deep dimple left by a bullet, and whip lashes from a shipboard flogging years ago. Every inch of his magnificent, scarred body was dear to her. If they lived together for a hundred years, she would never get enough of seeing him, touching him, giving herself to him.

  His deep kiss went on and on until her knees grew weak and a wonderful ache seared through her. They had yet to make love since Jeannette’s birth over a month before. And they had gone many weeks without each other before that, when she became too large with child. She knew that their time would come soon.

  “Tonight, my darling?” He breathed the question into her ear as he drew away.

  She glanced up at the noon-high sun. “Suddenly, that seems too long to wait,” she whispered.

  His eyes glittered with deep green desire. He leaned down toward her once more. Firmly, she placed her hand against his damp chest and smiled. He clasped her fingers and brought her palm to his lips, drawing damp circles there with the tip of his tongue. She trembled and sighed. Another moment, another caress, and she would give in to him—right here, right now!

  But a wail from Jeannette, followed by a howl from ’Gator-Bait saved her from her own longing.

  “Madame Boss!” the black boy shrieked. “This baby, she all wet and me, too!”

  Laffite and his lady laughed as she took Jeannette in her arms. Like it or not, they would have to wait.

  Ward sat very still, watching Pandora intently. One moment she was smiling. The next moment, she would frown or sigh. What could she be dreaming? Why didn’t she come out of it?

  “The doctor, he’s here, Mr. Gabriel,” Cassie said from the bedroom doorway.

  “Tell him to come right in.” Ward rose to greet the physician the hotel manager had summoned. Quickly, he explained what had happened.

  The frail, white-haired man proceeded with a cursory examination that took only minutes. Then he t
urned back to Ward. “You say, you tried smelling salts?”

  “Of course! Doctor, she’s been unconscious for nearly two hours. What’s wrong with her?”

  The old man glanced back at Pandora, who was smiling again now. He frowned and shook his head. “I haven’t the foggiest. Never saw a case like it before. But I don’t think you need to worry, young man. Her heart is strong, her pulse rate regular. She doesn’t seem to be unconscious at all. She’s simply sleeping deeply. Leave her be. Let her sleep it out.”

  Ward dismissed the man immediately. After Cassie showed him out, Ward growled, “Quacks! That’s all any of them are!”

  “Not Mr. Jacob!” Cassie corrected quickly. “Nor his daddy neither. They’re both good doctors.”

  “You’re right, Cass, and I apologize for my outburst. I wish to God we had one or both of them here now!”

  He sat back down beside Pandora’s bed and took her hand in his.

  A warm breeze scented with salt and sea blew over the island, wrapping it in a luxurious evening mist. Stars twinkled overhead and a sliver of a moon shone down. The white sand turned to silver at this hour, lending a special enchantment to their new home.

  Pandora experienced the dark-haired woman’s anticipation as if it were her own. Laffite’s lady—dressed in a long, white gown—waited for him in the captain’s cabin aboard the Pride. Jeannette was sleeping soundly in the sea chest that served as her cradle.

  Soon he would come. Soon she would know his love again. How could it be that every time with him was like the first time… yet every time was better than the time before? She crossed her arms over her breasts, rubbing the goose bumps that rose as she thought of him.

  She glanced at the wide bunk. How dear that bed had become to her! How many long nights they had lain there in each other’s arms, their hearts beating as one, while he loved her slowly, tenderly, thoroughly as the sea rocked them gently in its watery embrace.