Ford, Jessie

by Remember Me Love

  The day progressed very slowly, Louisa rising again, taking breakfast downstairs alone, long before anyone else in the house except servants stirred. She ate an unusually hearty meal, then requested the lamps in the study be lit, where she began to sort through and complete correspondence which had accumulated from the one-day holiday the company had taken.

  Louisa thought she could begin to see the pace slackening now that the conspiracy was in motion, but still there seemed plenty to do. The Melvilles would be going back to San Francisco, probably before Aaron returned to Easton's. Then the house would be nearly empty, except for Easton and Franklin Carson."At least I won't be alone in the house with Easton," she reassured herself. Easton had always been polite and gracious to her, yet she never lost a sense of uneasiness in his presence. She had looked up on many an occasion to find him watching her with a look that made her want to shudder. As Aaron had pointed out, she was a woman used to lengthy consideration by men, but the look she sometimes found on Easton's face suggested he knew more than he should.

  Just before the other members of the household appeared, a very weary messenger arrived with a thick packet of letters. They were from the Carolina, a Vanguard clipper that had put into Los Angeles harbor only two days ago. The letters preceded the ship by overland messenger, and in the mail was an envelope addressed to Marshall in a familiar hand. Louisa regarded the letter for some minutes, then sat before the now blazing fire she had requested, wondering how she could possibly feel cold when she sat so close to the flames.

  She tried to warm herself, staring at the envelope, dreading the now imminent confrontation with Marshall's mother. Louisa anticipated her relationship with Emma would be a difficult one at best. No one but Marshall had stood to defend her when she was so troubled, not even Emma, the one person she might have expected to give her some support. As she gazed at the still unopened letter, Louisa felt bitter, and a sick kind of fear, and she wished she were not alone, that Aaron had not just left her side. He could reason with and reassure her, she thought, feeling a sort of panic creep over herself. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to compose herself, knowing Aaron would demand, if not expect her to control her fears.

  Over these weeks at Crane's Nest, Louisa had thought often about Rachel, finding her separation from her child nearly unbearable. She had at times cried inconsolably, knowing she exasperated and tried Aaron's patience. Yet he had been remarkably, endlessly patient and understanding, which surprised and gratified her, and eventually his attitude had helped her to accept the unacceptable. She came to believe leaving Rachel behind was what was best for her child, knowing in her heart it would have been impossible for her to refuse Aaron's request for help in avenging Marshall's death, certain she had left Rachel with persons who would give their lives for her, if necessary―at least, Carmen would.

  But now with Emma's letter in hand, Louisa's certainty about her actions were shaken, and again she went through her reasoning, concluding again that what she had done was right, feeling she could face the letter and eventually the woman with confidence. At last she took Easton's jade-encrusted letter opener and cut the envelope, and began to read.

  Dearest Marshall and Louisa,

  This has been a very long and difficult passage, made more so by my eagerness to see my precious grandchild, Rachel. I long to hold her in my arms and see just who she resembles. I wonder who chose the name Rachel? It seems perfect for a small, innocent baby. I have a trunk full of beautiful things for her. I was afraid you might not be able to find what you need in your part of the country. Of course, it's only my excuse to begin spoiling her.

  I so regret the misery and unpleasantness that finds you on this coast and away from your natural home. But for now it cannot be helped. Perhaps we will soon all be able to live under the same roof again, but I am doubtful. Perhaps we will not even be living under the same flag for very long. But Louisa and Rachel and I will leave those matters to you men, and enjoy ourselves with more feminine concerns.

  The captain advises me it may be several more weeks before we reach Monterey, due to the prevailing winds. I hope your passage along this route were less fearsome than the trip I have just experienced. I would never have believed such dreadful storms as we encountered coming around Cape Horn. If I have to travel that way to return home, I may choose to remain permanently in California. Yet I understand traveling across the Isthmus of Panama has risks of its own.

  The only compensation of this journey 'has been a very nice fellow traveler who will also be stopping with us in Monterey. He is Alexander Fielder, the man whom Simon recommends to William as his aide and secretary. I am sure he will perform most admirably. He is a few years older than you are, Marshall, and has studied in many of the same places as you have. All in all, he is very compatible. Alex would have joined your party sooner, but he was delayed at home with a very ill wife and new baby, who are now, I am delighted to report, well on their way to recovery. In fact, they will probably join him in a few months.

  I cannot tell you how anxious I am to arrive at Monterey. We all have been separated far too long, and due to the most unpleasant of circumstances, which we will have to make up to each other.

  Your loving mother,

  Emma

  The reading was not as difficult as Louisa had anticipated. Marshall's mother was probably as regretful and conciliatory as Aaron believed. It was simply difficult for Louisa to trust anyone after all she had been through, especially someone who had failed to come to her assistance at a time when it was reasonable to expect support. Louisa wondered how much Emma's desire to reconcile herself to the couple would affect her ability to recognize the man who only used her son's name. She wondered just how keen Emma's sense would be; after all, a grown man changes in many ways, not only from the child with whom a mother could be expected to be familiar, but often from the person he was months before. It was possible that Emma would never consciously detect the masquerade. It occurred to Louisa the alternatives of recognition might be too painful for Emma to face. Perhaps the contact between mother and "son" could be kept to a minimum. After all, even Louisa found she saw very little of the man who everyone thought was her husband.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  THE Melvilles departed as planned in spite of Emma's approaching arrival. They promised to return, if only to greet her, should she choose to stay on and not go to San Diego to be with the grandchild she had come so far to see.

  Louisa kept busy even in the now quite empty house. Easton was reluctant to resume making household decisions, and gratefully left those things to Louisa. The time she had to spare was spent outdoors on her own, or sometimes in the company of Samuel Davis, for lengthier excursions. Occasionally she would stop to sketch, finding it had been much too long since she had engaged her artist's eye. At first she was impatient with her efforts, eventually forgiving her first attempts and looking forward to the times she could pursue her talent.

  She drew gnarled trees in fields of wild flowers; chipmunk, squirrel, and wood-rat families; deer and many winged creatures who inadvertently posed for her. She rode with Samuel to favorite fishing coves and sketched men unloading their catches; sat above the ocean and even captured the curious sad-eyed sea lion on her paper. She ordered paints and canvas and waited their arrival like a child anticipating Christmas. And while waiting she made portraits of the people around her, and from her fond memories. She found her drawings of Marshall and Aaron identical only to "strangers," and her single portrait of Rachel too painful to look at, the likeness too perfect. She would save it for the child's grandmother.

  One afternoon she came in from a very satisfying period of sketching to meet Easton in a particularly jubilant mood. "Your husband's mother arrived while you were out," he proclaimed before she could put her drawings down.

  Louisa pretended to be pleased. "Did you give her the bad news―about Rachel still being in San Diego and Marshall being on an errand?"

  "No. I leave both unpleasant
tasks to you. I only saw to their accommodations, I'm afraid."

  "Oh, I wish you'd helped me out a little more," she sighed pleasantly.

  "They'll all be down for tea in a few minutes."

  "Then I'll rush upstairs. I'd prefer to greet Marshall's mother in a fresher state. Would you ring for Loo Kim, please," she asked, flying up the stairs.

  In a few minutes Loo Kim was there to assist her, and soon Louisa felt she was ready to greet Emma Hudson. She chose a suitably demure gown, one Aaron would object to as being too modest. It would suit her mother-in-law's taste, she thought. The peacock-blue dress and her skin, which was especially tan from the last several afternoons in the sun, made her own blue eyes seem unusually pale. Loa Kim brushed her windswept hair away from her face, tying it simply at the nape of her neck, allowing the mass of curls to flow softly down her back. She fixed some delicate plumeria blooms at the knot, helping Louisa to appear―more delicate than she felt. A good impression for Emma, thought Louisa.

  She was the first of Easton's guests to arrive downstairs for tea, and she'd wished she'd sent Loo Kim to notify her when the others were already waiting. Easton admired her openly, staring longer than Louisa felt necessary. "I think you will please your motherin-law very much."

  "You forget, she already knows me quite well," she said nervously.

  "I don't forget at all," he replied as the doors opened to admit Emma Hudson, Alex Fielder, and someone Louisa and Aaron never expected to see―Anna Sutton, Andrew Sutton's mother. Louisa felt flushed, and in her astonishment, all the polite remarks she'd considered for her first encounter with Marshall's mother vanished from her tongue. Everyone noticed how ill at ease she was, and Emma bridged the uncomfortable moment and quite naturally went to her, to embrace her gently.

  "I'm so glad to see you again, Louisa. You look wonderfully well."

  "So do you, Aunt Emma. I was afraid from your letter that you might not have fared well on the trip," replied Louisa, feeling very self-conscious, her usual confidence all but evaporated.

  "It seems I did better than I'd thought. But I'm not anxious to make the return trip very soon, I can assure you."

  Louisa greeted Aaron's mother quickly, who stayed with them only to share a cup of tea, then disappeared upstairs to oversee the unpacking. Alex Fielder then came to Louisa's attention, and, as Emma had announced in her letter, he seemed a very amiable sort. As soon as the introductions were complete Emma asked of her grandchild.

  "I know you'll be terribly disappointed, but we left her in San Diego."

  "Oh, no!" cried Emma, her surprise and disappointment evident. "Whatever for?"

  "Marshall felt it would be too much of a journey for so young a child, and yet, he felt it was our duty to be here at this moment," she said lamely, laying the blame for the decision squarely on the woman's son. "She was left with my housekeeper who will lay down her life for her if she's asked."

  Emma was not pleased with the news, but said nothing further to indicate her unhappiness. "I guess I'll just have to pack up again and get aboard another ship bound for San Diego," she smiled. "While it's good to see you, and I'm most anxious to see my son again, I did come to see that child. Where is Marshall, by the way?"

  Louisa smiled gently at the woman, and sighed. "I know I'm going to disappoint you again, but what can I do? Marshall is away for a few weeks. I'm hoping," she looked to Easton for support, "he'll be here again in three weeks, perhaps sooner."

  "I'm sure we'll see him by then," added Easton encouragingly.

  "Well, then, I guess it won't be a waste of time for Anna to unpack," Emma sighed. "How disappointing the news is this afternoon! Just think, to come all this way and find I've traveled too far." But she managed a cheerful smile for Louisa, who returned it, thinking sadly that Emma didn't dream the extent of her actual disappointment. How much more tragic it would be, Louisa thought, for her to learn the truth, and how impossible it would be to simply shrug off that unhappiness if she were to learn of the death of her wonderful son.

  Chapter Fifty-four

  FIVE hard days of travel on horseback found Aaron eating his mocking words to Louisa. It was he who was longing for the comforts of Crane's Nest. By far he preferred the feel of an ocean-going deck to the back of a horse. His traveling companions were somber enough, and the long hours crossing steep ravines, or on paths hundreds of feet above endless twisted canyons, gave him time enough to contemplate the events of the past few weeks. He journeyed with two of the countryside's veterans, Calvin Lewis and Emil Joseph, the excursion posing no discomfort for either of these men.

  Lewis was a gnarled, often dreary man whose life had been spent along the seemingly endless frontiers of territories claimed by the United States. Like many of his fellow frontiersmen, he could not tolerate inhabited areas for any length of time. Whenever he ventured into such places, he would quite literally soak up what the civilized world had to offer, then when he dried out sufficiently from his expedition, he would pack his horse and mule, and head as far from society as possible, to trap, or mine, or hunt as it suited him, swearing he would never venture into civilization again. He was thoroughly acquainted with the country, and a more proficient guide could not be found. And as far as Aaron was concerned, the fact the man was nearly mute by choice made him an ideal companion on the trail.

  Aaron's second companion was less taciturn. Emil Joseph was essentially Peter Melville's agent in the conspiracy. In some respects Joseph did not fit the strictly imposed criteria for an agent in this enterprise, for his loyalties were not tied to the South.

  But he was an adept, multiskilled man whose talents were for hire and who, once he joined an enterprise, would pursue his duties as if the cause were his. No one in polite society would have connected Melville and Joseph, for their contacts were always surreptitious. Nor were they in any way social equals.

  Joseph was perhaps twenty years older than Aaron. His life had been very like the one Calvin Lewis had led, but Joseph favored more contact with people and lived among others whenever possible. In his travels he'd had two informal marriages with Indian women, and had lived peaceably near or in their camps most of his life. He knew their ways and of their general abuse by white men. He neither despised nor particularly admired the Indians, seeing them only as fellow travelers in this short life, who were due no less and no more of life's bounty or misery, as the case may be. By most people's standards, Emil Joseph was at least an amoral man, yet, in his thinking about Indians, he was considerably more charitable than many upstanding citizens.

  Aaron felt a kind of kinship with Emil, for in many ways their lives had been parallel. Joseph had even lost his first wife to the woman's Indian lover, in much the same way as Aaron had lost Juliet. If circumstances had been different, the two men might have been as close as Aaron and Mason Jennings had been. But on this journey and in this circumstance, they saw each other in a much different light. Aaron went with his companions as a representative of the elite, and Joseph came along as his minister to implement the conspirators' plans.

  The three men traveled into California's interior to meet Juan Delgado, a man whose fervent hope it was to fulfill those same plans. In California, like elsewhere in the country, the Indian had been pushed out wherever the white man thought he wanted to settle. If the Indian's natural habits were somewhat nomadic, the increasing white population, which forever infringed on Indian settlements, made it impossible for them to locate their communities permanently. And each new environment they were pushed into was, as a rule, more inhospitable than the last. They were driven and harassed with little mercy from any quarter, their labor was sought by ranchers, but, usually, only on a seasonal basis, and where other workers were not available. Indian women and children were commonly abducted, abused, and sold; their lands, their stock and crops, their means of survival destroyed whenever circumstances permitted.

  Those who were not beaten down beyond hope were ripe with hatred, but ordinarily they had no means to seek ve
ngeance. Now, for a few, the time was right, and the means for revenge at hand. Juan Delgado was a man well known to Joseph, and his was the first name to come to mind when Melville discussed his interest in arming suitable groups of Indians. His plan was to distract federal army troops from larger military centers into the frontier regions by staging Indian uprisings at convenient moments. Then the conspirators' other plans would be set in motion.

  Delgado was a perfect choice to lead his people, his desires exactly fitting the needs of the conspiracy. He was a man widely respected by his brothers, and one dangerously angry about his people's condition. He had watched and waited for the three men who came into his territory with an eagerness only such a man could know, approaching their camp shortly after the moon had risen. He was young in years, but old in appearance, of medium stature, with extremely black hair pulled severely from his face and tied with rawhide strips. His face was wide and dark, as were his eyes. He seemed to be heavyset, his musculature suggesting a powerful, strongly built man, but, in the light of the campfire, it was evident that there was far too little flesh on his bones, and, from his general ragged appearance, it was plain that the well-honed body was likely a result of persistent hunger rather than self-discipline. He supported himself and his family by working on ranches in the valley, staying as long as the jobs lasted. When they ended, he pulled up camp with his fellow herdsmen and looked for another position, welcome where he had been before, if there was work. But work grew scarce. A constant and plentiful supply of white men was now available to crowd the Indian laboror out, and under the specter of being herded into the confines of reservations which meant certain death, Juan Delgado and his people retreated farther into the country, where they, barely eked out an existence. They became shadows in the landscape that had once been theirs, imprisoned where they had once been free, intimate with and responsive to the murmurs and seasons of nature.