Chapter Twenty
THEIR closeness lingered as they lay together, their bodies entwining even in rest, and again they made love, each wondering silently if the need to be separate could ever again come between them. They joined with eagerness and growing familiarity, and now even their minds and hearts had a singleness of purpose. For this precious moment, Aaron and Louisa gave themselves to each other completely, with no past, no present, no future existing in a time that was wholly theirs. It seemed as if they were bound together for eternity.
But the spell was eventually broken. "Aaron, I have so many questions," Louisa began when they were still, holding him tightly as she lay against him.
"I'm listening," he said, watching her soft face grow troubled in the dim room.
"Where do you come from, Aaron, and why must we leave here? I've asked you before, and I must know. How do you know so much about me? And who is behind your investigation? Who are the people you suspect? How do they know Simon? My God, Aaron, California seems so far away from the rest of the country, I thought I'd be safe here from the past and the world I left behind."
Louisa shivered against his warm body, and he pulled her more tightly to him. "I can't answer an your questions, as reasonable as they might be. But I'll answer them in time," he promised. "I'm sure you know your father and Simon Hudson were partners for years in various ventures." Louisa nodded. "At Justin's death, you inherited his estate, but Simon is the executor and now the sole director of those mutual enterprises. Both Justin and Simon have long been aware how profitable knowing people in high places can be. If you'll remember, your father courted only those people who could bring him either profit or pleasure. Simon preferred profit."
Louisa sat up, turning her back to Aaron, remembering all too well the temperament of both men. "Who are you, Aaron? How do you know me? And, for that matter, how do you know so much about Simon and my father?"
Aaron sat up to answer her, then reached out to stroke her arms and the straightness of her back, playing with her hair which hung down her back like heavy golden cords. He leaned against her lightly and encircled her with his arms, impressed with her slimness as she leaned into him. "Aaron, many times in my life, I've had vivid nightmares; but waking, I've usually known they were dreams. And though my heart might still be pounding, I could eventually touch something in this world and be certain who and where I was." She paused, twisting slowly in his embrace to face him. ''But, Aaron, you tell me things and allude to others that make me wonder. I feel I'm being watched. It's an eerie feeling, and I don't like it."
"Simon and Justin's activities have been watched over the years, Louisa. They were a very clever combination. They trafficked in contraband, as well as conducting perfectly legitimate business—their plans their profits and losses of interest to many. Simon is, as your father was, a respected citizen. Prominent politicians vie for his support. In government, backs and heads are turned whenever his activities get too blatant, but even Washington has its limits to cuckolding, Louisa. This country will soon be involved in a war, the outcome of which we can't begin to imagine. But it will answer, perhaps for all time, whether the concept of a permanent union of states on this continent will survive. And any activity meant to divide the union, if the movement has any real momentum or backing, cannot forever escape the attention of Washington. Simon's enterprise is grandiose enough to warrant a great deal of interest."
He smiled at her in the ease of their growing intimacy. "I may seem an unlikely arm of the government, but I'm here in an official capacity. There is nothing I'm not authorized to do to prevent California from coming under the control of these mercenaries, these politically ambitious men. They wish to seize power through military action, to establish their own political state, to plunder the countryside for profit. The coming war can only be long and bitter, and in spite of the fact that making California a separate republic is predominantly a Southern preoccupation, men like Simon and his partners ultimately have no loyalties, except to themselves. In the end, these profiteers will sell to the highest bidder.
"Simon's partners are among the most prominent men of this state, as well as including an army of unknowns. California is overrun with adventurers, and has more than its share of ruffians to do the bidding of clever, unprincipled men. We'll be getting well acquainted with some of these people when we get to Monterey. Luther Dobson, by the way, is privy to all clandestine operations here in the south, but he is, in fact, a federal agent. If you should ever need help, go to him."
When he finished relating what information he felt he could give, Aaron took Louisa's face in his sundarkened hands. He lowered his voice to a softness that Louisa had to strain to hear as he said: "In telling you this, I'm very mindful of other men who've confided in beautiful women in their beds. Yet I'm not worried about treachery. And it's more than simple trust, Louisa," he said with great gentleness. "I have a certain power over you—you're drawn to me for reasons you haven't yet pieced together. And I'll take risks with you because, while you at one time were fond of your guardian, I know you hated your father. I also suspect you are willing to risk everything you own to avenge Marshall."
Louisa looked at Aaron, nearly mesmerized by the things he said, by what he seemed to know without revealing anything. "It's true," she whispered thoughtfully. "You wield a kind of power over me. One part of me trusts you unwittingly; another is afraid. But you don't own me, Aaron. Everything I do, I do willingly." Louisa drew herself away from him slightly. "My first instinct when I look at you is to trust you—love you—as I did Marshall. Then quickly, I see differences only a lover might. Your brow is higher than Marshall's," she said, touching him as she spoke, "and your eyes often cold. You have scars where there were none. Your hands are more powerful and so is your body. You're like a cat, ready to spring and kill."
She paused to stare silently at him, pressing her fingers gently to his lips when it seemed he would interrupt. "You're a very different man from Marshall, and you can have no power over me but what I give you." Louisa halted again, leaning against him, with no gulf between them in the silence. Soon she raised her head to look at him intently. "Aaron, do you think it possible for us to exist with only trust between us, with no secrets?"
He smiled at her gently. "You ask much of me," he said, hugging her protectively. "It's been a long time since I trusted anyone completely—now, I'm always wary." He paused to savor her closeness. "But I'll tell you anything I think it safe for you to know."
With that promise, Louisa pursued him with more questions, but no entreaty would make him say anything further. They dressed for the evening and informed Carmen they would like supper immediately. Louisa fed Rachel, and she and Aaron played with the baby as if it were a normal evening pastime. Aaron felt clumsy as he handled the small helpless infant, but in spite of his awkwardness, he was comfortable in the setting. He enjoyed the feel of the tiny baby in his arms, surprised at his feelings of tenderness and his desire to protect her. Even Louisa's look of happiness while he held her child gave him satisfaction.
He returned the baby to her mother's arms, and watched for a few minutes as the two communicated wordlessly with each other. Then, abruptly, Aaron began his plans. "You must get a wet nurse, someone you can trust. You know we'll be in some danger―you'll have to leave Rachel behind with Carmen."
Louisa's face instantly turned to stone, and she laid the cheerful infant on a gaily patterned quilt beside her. "I've been waiting for you to say I must leave her," she said quietly, stroking Rachel's back. "Loving her, looking after her gives me so much satisfaction, I think I need her more than she needs me." Louisa took a deep breath to force back the tears brimming her eyes. She felt cheated. The circle of deprivation was closing in on her again. A chance to love and be loved was being snatched from her grasp once more. "As long as she's well cared for. Perhaps we won't be absent long," she said, looking to Aaron for reassurance.
"Perhaps," was all he said. He felt he couldn't offer more, kno
wing in this respect their sense of time was entirely different.
Louisa bundled up Rachel, and held her tightly, as if she dared anyone to take the baby from her. Aaron watched her rock and sing softly to her child, apparently without awareness of his presence. He was not unwelcome, merely unnoticed. He was reassured by Louisa's calm though sad anticipation of the need to leave Rachel behind. He felt she had pulled herself together remarkably in the last twenty-four hours. She seemed to be the strong, resilient girl he remembered, and he felt certain he could trust her to weather the hardships, to withstand the pain―she had surely been bred to it, he recalled.
Soon Louisa put Rachel down in her room, and returned to Aaron, slipping quietly into his arms, urging him to hold her. "I don't think you know how much you're asking of me. You can't know how much Rachel means to me. She's all I love in this world, all I have left of my love for Marshall. She means more to me than I can put into words."
"I'm sure I can't know how painful it is for you, Louisa. I know your life must seem an endless journey from one unhappy place to another. And I can promise you nothing."
She sighed deeply. "I expect no promises. I know better than to even ask. But I do want the truth from you. I'll ask again, how you know so much about me? Have I no secrets? If I do, I'd like to, at least, know what they are."
He smiled at her, knowing what he could tell her would now only strengthen their bond. "Your curiosity has no end. You tantalize me beyond endurance and then withhold yourself until you get your answers. Woman―the eternal weapon," he laughed.
"You make me sound like a whore," she said, stiffening. "You ask a lot of me, and I promise to ask a lot from you as well."
"Louisa, you know who I am. You've merely forgotten me, along the way."
She frowned at him. "All at once, I'm extremely weary of puzzles and games!" she replied impatiently, real irritation edging her voice.
"I even have something of your own creation to refresh your memory," he said, nearly dragging her from the house.
To Louisa, Aaron seemed oddly excited, holding her hand in an iron grip, leading her to one of the storage sheds where she kept odd pieces of furniture, trunks of clothing, and a few mementoes. What could possibly be among those things to make her remember him? she wondered. She held the lantern as he unbolted the door, noticing several of the crates inside had recently been opened then carefully reclosed. She glanced around the shadowed room, trying to remember what each crate contained. Then, her eyes widening, she set the lantern down. Her hands were shaking. No, she couldn't trust the turn her mind was taking! Aaron only smiled at her as she looked at him questioningly, hastening to one particular crate. "Help me," she whispered, prying open a resealed crate with all of her strength. When the contents were revealed, she paused, feeling apprehensive.
"I want you to remember," Aaron urged.
It was very hot in the stuffy shed, and Louisa felt nearly suffocated. She reached into the opened crate and carefully removed, one by one, the canvases she had painted in London, in Paris, and in New Orleans, until she found one that had been her favorite long ago. How simple of her, she thought now, not to realize those beautiful children were brothers; Everyone said how much they looked alike, though one was blond, the other dark. It hadn't mattered in the least to her, so she failed to notice the obvious.
Louisa was both thrilled and shocked. She felt plunged back in time, suddenly overwhelmed by the unspoken love between the three wild gypsy children. She moved hastily to Aaron amid the crates and cartons. "Andrew, Andrew," she cried, holding him joyfully. "You promised me you'd come home, but I'd given you up! Oh, I've missed you so, and I've shed more tears than I care to remember without your arms around me." She kissed him repeatedly, hugging him with all of her strength, with laughter and tears mingled in joy. She felt strangely complete, and intensely relieved to find the pieces of the puzzle fitting together, the haze lifting. It was a further reassurance; of her sanity.
When Louisa's enthusiasm was, at last, spent, she seemed worn out. Aaron hugged her tenderly and he too felt strangely happy. Yet he held himself back. He would never allow their closeness to override any decisions he had to make, even though the joy of their bond was a lulling pleasure. His memory of their nearly forgotten past was something he tried to bury deep inside himself. He would never again allow anyone to come as close to him as had the needy, innately loving urchin he had loved so many years ago. Their earlier communion was a thing life had hardened him against.
He lived by his wits and his heightened senses, and he could ill afford a blinding love affair, though privately he could not deny his love for her. He would merely be cautious, forever wary. Wasn't that the code he actually owed his life to? Love could be deadly if it made him vulnerable, if it distracted him from the task at hand. He would love her, but not completely, not with the depth that now seemed to flow instinctively. He could afford no such liaison. Their affair might be deeply satisfying, but that fact could only be second to its usefulness.
Surely their affection would only be temporary; surely, it couldn't last. Nothing was permanent, especially love. He needed only to summon the past for undisputed testimony to that fact. So, with careful reasoning, Aaron promised himself certain pleasure with Louisa, pleasure deeper because of their mutual and loving memories, but an armored pleasure, in the name of self-defense. No one could fault him for this choice. Louisa would be the last. There could be no promises for the future.
Chapter Twenty-one
URGENT plans were overlooked for the evening. Louisa could not be distracted from her joy at recognizing the man she would call Aaron. Even Aaron could not suppress the relief he felt in revealing himself to her. Nor could he deny his immense pleasure in the warmth that flowed between them. Their closeness electrified the night, enhanced further by their lovemaking. Louisa slept soundly, clinging almost fiercely to him, and he wondered why a night like this could pass so quickly, how the day could intrude, why their passion could not be the overriding fact of life. But even as he lay there in the comforting night, reality crept up on him, lessening the warmth of their embrace.
Yes, he would harden himself against this renewed inclination to love. He'd learned the lesson before, many years ago. It had been painful, but he had learned. He had forgotten how to love. He had learned to be a man among men when he was merely a boy. He had grown tall and strong and lean and hard. He had hardened his heart as well. Yet his mind had not closed. He knew his heart and his body could be broken in the world, but he found his mind stretched and challenged. Others who traveled with him did not even notice as their minds dulled. Theirs gave way, but Aaron's filled out, as a yearling becomes a seasoned buck.
Aaron lay in their bed, holding Louisa, as the boy Andrew had never even dreamed of doing when he last saw her. Then Louisa was a bedraggled child, and he had loved her, without shame, with no demands of any kind. He barely knew what it was he felt for her, for it was never something to be spoken of. Only in the years of deprivation, in the hours spent satisfying urgent physical yearnings with women less casually taken than others, did he come to recognize what they as children had discovered. He rarely thought of it, for when Andrew last saw Louisa, she held little promise for the woman she was now. And whatever her promise, Andrew never dreamed Louisa would come to him.
Years ago when Louisa and he had said good-bye, Andrew promised only half-heartedly to return. He thought his position was made clear by the very fact of his going. He suspected who his father might be. His resemblance to Marshall was not lost on him. At times, he was bitter that the man did not recognize him, for he wanted a father. But liaisons between servant and employer were never acknowledged in the plantation setting, and he saw no hope for recognition. On that first voyage, Marshall and Andrew occasionally saw each other, but their divergent destinies were clear to both of them. Marshall's life promised pleasure, ease, and elegance; Andrew's hardship, toil, and simplicity, if not squalor. Neither boy had experience or vision enough
to see just what lay ahead. They only sensed the years of close companionship were past.
Andrew found sea duty exhausting, but he was vigorous. He learned fast and finally there wasn't a task aboard ship with which he wasn't familiar. In the opinion of even his first master, he would eventually be captain of his own vessel―"what with his connections to the owners."
But skill is not all. Andrew readily mastered whatever task was given to him, tasks often assigned before they might, to test his seemingly inexhaustible capacity. Andrew thrived on challenge, begging for the hours to be filled. For a while, it seemed he would adjust to the rigor of life aboard a ship. Yet Andrew was restless and solitary, daily growing more resentful of shipboard confinement and unquestioned, repetitious obedience.
Eventually he found he had no real opportunity to advance with the Vanguard line, for it was soon learned that he was not a favorite of the owners. He had merely been shipped out for their convenience. Soon no special duty was afforded him, and there were no special expectations for his future. Word had it that it might even be preferred if Andrew Sutton simply disappeared within the ranks of the other seamen. Andrew was slow to comprehend this, but as the duty he was given grew worse, he began to understand. The first voyages were for Emma Hudson's benefit. Though she knew Andrew's paternity, she would never tolerate his abuse. She had refused to punish his mother, thinking correctly that the young woman had been less at fault than her husband, Simon—a kindness that had been repaid many times in his mother's service to Emma. She had her reasons for keeping Anna Sutton in the household—what surer means of securing a loyal servant, what easier method of seeing Simon keep his promise by winning the confidence of another pair of eyes. But Emma Hudson's kindliness had not secured Andrew permanent good fortune at sea. As she traveled more and as Andrew gradually lost contact with home, he lost her protection.
Ford, Jessie Page 11