Ford, Jessie

by Remember Me Love

  When he went to Emma's door, it was Anna who answered his knock. She seemed startled by him, then cheerful warmth replaced her surprise. "Oh, you look just wonderful! I'd heard you added a beard, but not how much you look like your father did many years ago," she said, opening the door wide for him to enter. She stood and looked at him a few moments, listening to his polite inquiries and comments. They laughed at the furor the Hudson household had been in the last time she'd seen him. "Things settled down a little after you left for California, but your mama was very hard on your father," she laughed quietly, and from the sudden flicker in her eyes, it was as if it were a private joke. "I was very glad I was not the source of her fury, although the whole house was under its influence. Your mama is something to behold when she is angry!" Anna shook her head and smiled. "At least from your looks, marriage agrees with you." Then she lowered her voice, "I'm glad you two finally got your way. It's the way it should have been all along." She paused to look at him more closely, seeming quite pleased with what she saw. "Your mama is on the terrace waiting for you," she said, leading the way. "She's longing for a good chat."

  Anna left them alone; closing the terrace doors. Aaron kissed Emma's hand and then her forehead, a gesture typical of Marshall in years past. Then he sat close to her on the redwood couch while she alternately crocheted and scrutinized her son. They spoke at first of things at home, of his favorite horse, the books yet to be shipped to his residence in California, wherever that might finally be, of Janna Carson, of a university friend who had called on the Hudsons shortly after his departure. Russell had kept him well informed, well prepared for this inquisitive lady.

  "I'm afraid I've been a little hard on Louisa about Rachel. I know my last remarks nearly caught a flare of her temper. Still I can't get over your actions. It seems so unlike you, and more than that, Louisa needs her baby, perhaps more than most mothers. You can't wrench mother and child from one another like that. Surely you haven't forgotten how fragile Louisa's health can be?"

  "Of course, I haven't forgotten! Don't forget how many years I've loved her, Mother. Much longer than you know. Even as children, Andrew and I held Louisa in our arms hoping to ease her terror. At first I tried to comfort her; much later I made love to her," he said frankly. "I love her more than even she knows, and I know better than anyone what her strengths and her weaknesses are." He spoke quietly but passionately, his words, his aggressive but polite stance very like Marshall when he was determined and unwavering in his beliefs. Yet Aaron was acutely aware how much the words he spoke mirrored his own feelings. He had been unable to tell Louisa how he loved her, but he told Emma, and she heard and believed him. "We left our child behind with servants just like you did occasionally. We've not abandoned her."

  Then the tone of his voice became irritable. "And why, if you're concerned for Louisa's health, do you rub salt in her wounds? She doesn't need to be reminded of Rachel." He stood up then and paced the terrace slowly, hoping to put Emma on the defensive, to wring a few apologies from her, to distract her from any but her own guilty feelings about Louisa and Marshall.

  "Haven't you yet forgiven her for always seeming to disrupt our lives? Have you forgiven her for loving me? For the crimes committed against her? Do you forgive me for loving Justin and Claudia's child? Is she too unclean for 'the cream of Southern manhood,' too corrupt to mingle her blood with the Hudson line of thoroughbreds?" His anger was unmistakable now, and Emma's face registered shock, just as Aaron wanted.

  "Marshall, you're being cruel and unfair! I've told you how badly I feel. I've come in conciliation, you know that's so!"

  "I also remember how you cautioned me not to come here, not to go after Louisa when she was unwed and carrying my child. I remember the modest, but nonetheless pointed accusations you made."

  "You must forgive me! I was half mad with shock over all of the incredible events!"

  "You say you were 'half mad,' and yet you wonder about Louisa's sanity. Among those whose sanity is not in question, we speak very loosely. It seems to me, Mother, if Louisa ever does lose her mind, she's had more than sufficient excuse. Let's not shove her too hard with self-righteousness." He pulled a small pine cone from a tree whose branches dipped onto the balcony, then threw the cone forcefully into the woods, allowing his anger to ease slightly. "I'm sorry we didn't bring the baby with us. It was mainly due to my selfish wish to have Louisa all to myself. I'd appreciate it, though, Mother, if nothing more on the subject was said," he concluded, certain Emma would say no more.

  "I'm sorry," she said, tears brimming her eyes, and Aaron went and knelt by her, and hugged and kissed her gently, quite satisfied by how the interview had progressed in his favor. "I'll have Anna get us some more tea," he offered. "You were going to show me the things you're taking to San Diego. Louisa will be very disappointed if I don't see them."

  Emma was relieved to have the conversation so easily turned. Her emotions were in a turmoil. She felt she had been unduly accusing with Louisa, and she felt appropriately but harshly chastised. Yet something nagged at her. Something was not as it should be. She sensed it even in her present despair, even in the guilt Marshall had SO adroitly touched and wrenched from her.

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  LOUISA and Alex returned to their favorite location for sketching. Some time before, they'd discovered a perfect clearing, edged with an outcropping of boulders, open on one end to the horizon, surrounded on its other edges by the forest and its creatures who ventured out, seemingly for the artists' pleasure. However, this afternoon was providing neither good light nor subjects of any interest, and Louisa was very unhappy about the way the outing, as well as the day, was going. "William won't be pleased when we come back without some splashes of color on canvas," she said, picking up her more familiar pen and paper. "Nothing seems to have gone right today."

  "Don't let your husband hear you say that!"

  "I guess not!" Louisa laughed. "It wasn't a very flattering comment his first day back! I know he wouldn't appreciate it." And they laughed heartily. "When do you expect your wife to join you? I know she was ill from childbirth, and that's why your own arrival was delayed."

  "I don't expect her for several months. She needs to get her strength back. I left her when she was safely out of danger, but she wasn't well."

  "It's going to be lonely for you."

  "Very."

  "I know better than most what it will be like," Louisa sighed. "You've no doubt heard about Marshall and me? Did anyone in New Orleans not hear the gossip?" Alex nodded. "The loneliness was almost unbearable. I expected never to see him again―you at least have the comfort of knowing your family will come as soon as possible. I came here thinking I had to forget the person I loved most in the world."

  "What would you have done if he hadn't come? As I heard the story, it was only by chance Marshall learned of your circumstances."

  Louisa shook her head. "It was odd, Alex, but nature seemed to be on my side for once, or, more probably, on Rachel's side. Miraculously, as the birth got closer, I focused more and more on the future and less on the past. I actually seemed to get stronger, even confident. I wouldn't have been able to get through it otherwise."

  "Perhaps, you underestimate your strength of character, Louisa."

  "Perhaps. But let's not waste the afternoon talking." She closed the subject. "Let me sketch you, and you can send the results, if they're good, to your wife. It would cheer her up, I'm sure. I seem to have more skill at portraits than landscapes, as you already know! Just turn to face me a little more. No, that's too much. Now lift your chin about an inch. Perfect." Soon Louisa lost herself in her subject, in the shapes and lines of his face, in the shading of his hair, in the look of his startling, pale eyes.

  Alex sat silent and still, an ideal, knowledgeable subject sensing she preferred not to have her work interrupted by conversation. He watched her carefully as if he were also observing a subject for drawing. He doubted he could do justice to her on paper or canv
as, feeling there was something too elusive about Louisa, too mercurial to capture adequately with brush or pen. She didn't seem to be as accessible as her great beauty and natural allure implied.

  Alex wondered about the man who had managed, by her own admission, to capture Louisa's emotions so completely. As a couple, Marshall and Louisa were strikingly handsome, an artist's image of perfection with Marshall's darkness and apparent strength vividly contrasting Louisa's splendid fairness. Alex found himself wondering if such a combination, so amazing to the eye, was not in some way too bold. Often, it seemed, opposites never managed to find a lasting common ground. Only luck seemed to determine the destiny of that kind of union. But perhaps these two were more like primary colors on the artist's palette, free to combine into infinite shades on the spectrum, free to blend and compliment, or to contrast effectively and dramatically. It would intrigue him to watch the pair. So far, he had enjoyed Louisa's company immensely, especially their mutual interest in art, and he wondered if he could cultivate a friendship with her husband, or whether the sensual beauty of the woman would somehow prevent the men from developing more than a very superficial relationship. If she were his wife, he knew it would be difficult for him to be comfortable with her attachment to another man, whatever the grounds. And he wondered if any man could feel secure in Louisa's presence.

  "Finished," she said. "No, just one minute." She looked thoughtfully at Alex and at the sketch. "Yes, I'm done," she said finally, and Alex moved very close to her. "It's not bad, but I think I could've done a little more justice to your eyes. You'll have to let me try again."

  "My pleasure. Mary will be very pleased," he said, reaching for the drawing, wondering if his very innocent young wife would sense the longing he saw there in his eyes, the yearning Louisa had evidently read and transferred to the pen-and-ink drawing. He felt transparent, but perhaps Louisa didn't see what he did. If she did, she made no overt sign.

  "Send it with the courier, and she'll have it in a very short time." When she glanced up, Louisa looked over Alex's shoulder to see a man seated on his horse watching them. She covered her eyes and squinted, then stood and raised her arms to wave at him. "It's Marshall," and though he was still a good distance away, she hurriedly gave her materials to Alex and began to run in Aaron's direction.

  Aaron had come into the clearing just as she'd finished the portrait. He watched with surprise as Alex moved familiarly close to Louisa, and it seemed to him they sat cozily for quite a while. Perhaps this was the man Aaron had feared. Alex Fielder was certainly a man very like the one Aaron had conjured as a potential adversary, and as Louisa started in his direction, Aaron remained stock still. Just an hour before, he had confessed his love for Louisa aloud for the first time, and now he felt the specter of a more suitable lover for this woman breathing down his neck. He had come after her full of satisfaction, and very full of his feelings of love for her. Now, as they faced one another, he found bitter reality rearing its head, hissing its venom. Yet when he began to approach her again, and met her with her arms reaching out to him, her love for him not the least concealed in her face and posture, he forgot his fears and gathered her into his arms eagerly, easily lifting her with him onto the horse.

  They held each other tightly, and kissed passionately, Louisa quite breathless from scurrying toward him across the meadow. "Well? Tell me how it went. I can see from your face, it must have gone well."

  "It went perfectly!" he said emphatically.

  "Ahhh! What luck," she sighed.

  "Luck? Hell! Skill!"

  "Pardon me!" she laughed, hugging him. "You'll have to tell me about it later."

  "I'll tell you a lot of things later." And she knew just what he meant, his hands seeking more than she preferred with an audience, even though the observer was a good distance away.

  "Aaron, you're in polite company, just now. You don't want to give yourself away―Marshall would be more circumspect," she cautioned, loving her ability to torment him just a little.

  "Yes, good old well-mannered Marshall. How did he manage it?"

  "Only in public."

  "I see. And what about the little public display a few minutes ago?"

  "What public display?" she asked, truly dumbfounded.

  Aaron motioned toward Alex. Louisa's eyes widened. "You're jealous!" she said, hugging him, laughing wildly. He could get nothing more than helpless giggles from her, so he decided it was time to greet Alex and collect her belongings.

  Alex greeted them cheerfully, returning Louisa's broad smile, then shared her drawing of him with Aaron. "You'll have to show me the other things you've done while I was away," he said, very impressed with her work.

  "Did your mother show you the one I did of Rachel?"

  He nodded. "It was beautiful. I'm surprised you gave it up."

  "That's precisely why I couldn't keep it. The likeness is too perfect." And the sadness Aaron had hoped to prevent by his harsh words to Emma crept into Louisa's eyes, but only for a moment until he held her fiercely in his arms, while Alex Fielder looked on in envy.

  Chapter Sixty

  A few nights later, Louisa lay still in spite of the intense pain. She'd been unable to sleep, at first feeling vaguely uncomfortable, then increasingly weak. Her body grew tense and restless, and soon she was swimming in perspiration, suddenly frightened of whatever it was that was fast coming over her. When the pain came, it was vicious, taking her almost by surprise. Never before had it come so suddenly, almost without warning, and she wondered, when she pulled her legs up instinctively to shield herself from the force that struck her, why she had not called out. Or did she only assume she had not cried, because Aaron was still sleeping soundly beside her, his face serene and loving, just as she remembered from the moment she slipped from his embrace to confront her odd discomfort.

  At first she could tend to nothing but die pain. Later, when a reprieve was given, she rose from the bed to find she was shaking and unsteady. Despite her weakness, she felt the need to pace the floor, and throughout the night she alternately lay in torment, sometimes in stillness, or walked about the room impatiently, like a caged animal. Aaron woke several times, but she assured him he could do nothing more than he did, so he held her whenever she turned to him. He insisted she drink a small glass of whiskey, and she protested, but he won out in the next bout of pain.

  The night passed slowly, and only at sunrise was Louisa finally able to rest, sleeping as much from exhaustion as from relief. Hours later, she woke to find Aaron dressed and sitting beside her in a chair pulled next to the bed. "That was a rough night!" he said, standing to ring for Loa Kim. "She'll bring you something to eat, and look after you. Think you've recovered? Or do you want some laudanum?"

  "I hope that was the worst of it. I don't think I want any laudanum, but I'd have been grateful for one of Carmen's potions last night. I don't remember ever being so ill before," she sighed wearily. "What time is it?"

  "It's past eleven and you've kept me from my appointments, as well as kept me awake most of the night." He smiled at Louisa, sitting next to her on the bed.

  "Sorry. I hope I haven't interfered with the important affairs of state," she mocked, kissing his mouth when he came close to her.

  He stroked her hair, pushing a few disorderly strands away from her face. "You ought to give up hard liquor so early in the morning," he remarked, lifting the whiskey bottle from the bedside table to pour her another small drink. "This will help you sleep," he said, offering her the amber liquid.

  "Last night I was afraid you might make me drink the whole bottle."

  "Believe me, the thought crossed my mind."

  She smiled at him weakly. "I'm going to spend the day in bed."

  "So you can keep me awake all night again?"

  "Perhaps," she countered, pulling him close, caressing him.

  "Don't tease―I've been away much too long to tempt unless you're up to it, he said, again smoothing her hair away from her pale face, kissing the puls
e beating rhythmically at her throat, moving his mouth familiarly along the swelling curves of her breasts as they pushed invitingly at the low neckline of her sheer nightgown. But he stopped himself there, taking a deep breath, arising reluctantly from her embrace. "I'll be back late this afternoon. Get some rest."

  "If you're going to town, tell Mrs. Stevens I won't be in for my fitting? Or send a message for me, please."

  "Any other errands, madam? Anything to oblige you."

  "Go!" she ordered, smiling back at his cheerful teasing. How wonderful to have him with her again, she thought, as she fell into hazy, uneasy dreams.

  When he left the room, Aaron's face betrayed nothing of his thoughts. He'd spent the early part of the morning with Marshall's mother, relating Louisa's indisposition, briefly discussing his change of politics, and his expectations for the regime Simon and his partners envisioned. Emma seemed keenly alert, listening earnestly, saying little, apparently happy to have more time alone with her son than she expected and pleased to find there was no residue of anger from their confrontation a few days before. She would leave day after tomorrow and seemed only to want to draw a little closer to her son again, to heal permanently any remaining scars.