Even Aaron's mind caught fire. The men with whom he seemed to plot were frighteningly close to being next of kin. In other circumstances he could have gladly done business with them. They had imagination and daring and fearlessness about the future. They regarded the risks of their schemes―the loss of fortunes and position―as worthy of the gamble. At the root they were ruthless and corrupt, risking far more than their own property and lives. This fact, made so apparent by the murder of Aaron's actual kin, Marshall, kept Aaron at his distance at moments when the game he played became too real, the charade overwhelmingly self-deceptive.
The schemes were advancing with steady and thoughtful precision. Plans for privateering on this coast as well as the other were reinforced by decisions to order construction of appropriately designed ships. They would go to British and French shipbuilders. Northern shipyards would not be available during the now inevitable war. South Carolina had just withdrawn from the Union, and the coming inauguration of the despised Abraham Lincoln would see more states follow her, it was certain.
The conspirators foresaw the problems of foreign shipbuilders selling ships to the enemies of the United States. They would find supporters in other foreign countries, and register the newly built ships in the investors' names under foreign flags. Later the conspirators would purchase the ships from those private persons. It would definitely be a war of economic advantage to the rich, especially those with a provident eye on the future.
New to the plotting, Senator Edwin Taylor was a man with a rich imagination and questionable loyalties. He was foremost an opportunist, a man of sometimes wild vision. He sprang from the South, and settled in the West when, like Brockheim, he foresaw the possibilities the region held. He vigorously promoted legislation advantageous to the West, and saw many bills through the rigors of passage in the U.S. Senate. He was also a darling of foreign courts whenever he traveled, even as a private citizen.
Senator Taylor firmly believed all of the West would follow California's lead if she declared neutrality in the coming conflict. Neutrality in the war could be the first step in the move toward a fully independent West. Taylor would use his eloquence where necessary, his plain-spoken phrases when it better suited the audience. He would sway large numbers of people to his convictions.
It was not beyond the realm of the possible, he said, to think the commander of military forces in the Western territory might declare California and the rest of the region neutral. Once the West was securely in the conspirators' camp, the government in Washington would be powerless to reclaim it. The business of war would guarantee their success. Why, he asked, should the West, with its abundant resources and dynamic citizenry, be bound to North or South?
He would, at first, speak in favor of neutrality, but the senator ultimately preferred the idea of California rising as an independent republic. He had schemes of his own. Mention of his dreams caused a responsive gleam in Peter Melville's eyes, opening the doors for Aaron's long-held speculation that no one really knew the extent of Melville's own plans. Senator Taylor saw the eventual boundaries of the new republic to be the Pacific Ocean, the Rocky and Sierra Madre mountain ranges. He did not dream on an ordinary scale.
But he did not recommend abandoning the South―"my homeland," he called it―to fate. He still had too many business interests in the South, despite his residence in the West, and contrary to Congress's gentleman's code of ethics. Perhaps if the tide ran in that direction, the Pacific states might openly declare allegiance to Southern ambitions. Eventually the West and the South might join to become one mighty and separate nation. Even now there were militant proSouthern citizens residing in California. Several, especially in Southern California, had openly declared themselves to be in the South's camp. Some were armed and already practicing military maneuvers among themselves. These militants could easily be added to the existing army, bolstering the numbers of soldiers who hailed from the South.
A railroad connecting the South with the West through sympathetic territory was not an impossible dream. The debate for a transcontinental railroad had long been echoing in Congress, one of the biggest obstacles being the route across the interior―northern or southern―and the war might decide that issue too. Among those at Brockheim's, linking the South with the riches of the West was deemed a necessity for the South―if the war should last more than a few weeks.
Many optimistic Southerners boasted the North would crumble immediately in the face of brave Southern soldiers. But the men who now convened in the hills east of the port of Los Angeles were more farsighted than the braggarts who thumped their chests over the superiority of their region's manhood. They saw early skirmishes turning into protracted battles; battles turning into campaigns; thin wisps of smoke from a few muskets becoming clouds of suffocating cannon fumes. There would be red stains on a few bandages at first, but later the streams would be full of the stench and color of blood. If necessary, these men at Brockheim's could see to it.
Taylor even revealed he had spoken of his sketchy dreams in the French court, and his ideas had drawn considerable interest. As yet, Europe officially supported the government in Washington, but Southern ideas were not rejected out of hand; there was still room to bargain. In order to survive the long haul of war or separation from the Union, the South would have to establish firm trade ties with and diplomatic recognition in Europe and the Orient. California could provide that link as an independent republic. Certainly the South's ports would be closed in war, and since she relied heavily on Northern and European mills to convert her valuable cotton crop to cash, as well as demanded the importation of many goods to make life livable, she would need an open source of ocean trade. The friendly Pacific Ocean loomed as the means of trade she needed. The conspirators counted their blessings.
Very highly placed French officials took a special interest, however, in Senator Taylor's discussions of the eventual boundaries of an independent Western republic, and in his points regarding abandoned gold and silver mines in Sonora, Mexico. The French had their own designs on Mexico. Taylor impressed his friends at court with his knowledge of the region, and even managed to spur the court's interests in it.
Now the senator pointed out to his listeners in the California hacienda, just as he had to the foreign secretary, that all the millions in gold extracted from California did not even begin to equal the amounts mined in Sonoran mines in past centuries. These mines had been abandoned primarily because of the fierce Indians of the area. But with proper use of military forces, Sonora's mines could be reopened. The region, could be subdued, mined, and eventually settled. Of course, it was not certain just what plans France had in that regard, but Senator Taylor dared to dream, and to introduce those dreams to the California conspirators. He put his cards face up on the table and became one of their number.
Chapter Eighty-nine
ON December 20, 1860, South Carolina seceded from the Union. The word passed quickly, and when the news arrived in California by telegraph, Peter Melville was one of the first to receive it. At Brockheim's, the news was celebrated temperately, champagne glasses raised among the silent thoughts of those who gathered at Casa del Sur. The conversation then turned very earnest. By Christmas Eve, the Melvilles, who had planned to stay in Southern California until after the New Year's fiesta wound down, left with Franklin Carson for San Francisco. William Easton remained behind to enjoy the German's hospitality, and Aaron rode to San Diego to enjoy Christmas with Marshall's wife and family, and to see Luther Dobson again.
Aaron was accompanied on the trail by Easton's servant, Samuel Davis, and the two men arrived at the Hudson compound very early Christmas morning. Aaron entered the house, quietly greeting a startled Carmen with a satchel full of packages.
"Señor! I did not expect you! Señora, your wife, did not tell me," she said, looking up from an array of less than traditional holiday dishes in various stages of preparation, instantly considering whether there could be enough food for another guest. Satisfied she
could feed an invading army, Carmen turned again to Aaron to concentrate on his reply.
"The señora is fond of surprises.'
"Oh, si, señor," Carmen agreed.
"I've some things to put under the Christmas tree," he waved the satchel at her.
"There is no tree, señor, but a special place in the parlor." Carmen gestured in that direction, then led the way, stopping only to put a heavy kettle down on the crowded worktable.
The house was decorated with greenery tied simply with red and green silk ribbons scattered throughout the branches, and here and there were a few ornaments Aaron seemed to remember from years past. The only elaborate decoration was a fine China crèche on the mantel. He distinctly recalled these figures. He had been with Marshall in the Boyd household when the valuable pieces had been unpacked after one of Justin Boyd's many trips abroad. Louisa had been enthralled by the fragile, exquisitely rendered figures, and it didn't surprise Aaron to see they were among the things she chose to bring to California. It was a woman with a deep longing for permanence who collected these mementoes from her shattered past―a woman he could long for but never make a life with.
Seeing the crèche again, so far away from their original home, so carefully preserved and transported, made something suddenly very clear to Aaron. These shining figures reminded him that women like Louisa Boyd Hudson were like priceless ornaments designed and finished to decorate other men's fine homes. He could admire them, perhaps even hold them in his arms for a few short hours, but they, like the figures in the crèche, would eventually shatter into uncountable pieces if he tried to take them from their rightful places. He could look. He could touch. But he could never possess.
Aaron seemed unusually thoughtful to Carmen as he placed his packages with the others. "Oh, señor! La cocina! The señora is still sleeping," she said, flying from the room.
Aaron smiled after her. He emptied the satchel, then closed it, taking the last two bundles, heading for Louisa's room. He opened her door and went in.
"What time is it, Carmen?" Louisa asked, still lying on her stomach with the covers thrown almost completely over her head.
"It's still very early, señora."
The response brought Louisa to a sitting position instantly, her face showing how startled she was.
"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson," Aaron said cheerfully, sitting next to her quickly, before she could react.
Louisa blinked at him, then leaned into her pillows slowly. "Good morning, Aaron," she said quietly, pulling the covers under her chin protectively. She looked sleepy. "You didn't warn us you were coming."
"I thought you liked surprises."
"And you're an expert at surprises, aren't you?"
He smiled and leaned to kiss her gently on the cheek. Louisa shrank from him. "Just a friendly holiday kiss, señora. The man would be expected to call on his beloved wife and family on this day, especially when he's so close to home."
"Close? Where have you been?"
"For the last week―in Los Angeles. You asked me to leave you alone, remember? Just honoring your requests, señora." He gave her a slight bow from the waist, though still sitting next to her on the bed. "But perhaps you've had a change of heart?"
"Don't get your hopes up," Louisa said firmly. "Why did you come?"
"For appearances. To feast my eyes on you. And to give Luther Dobson enough information to keep him happy indefinitely. The fire is hot, Louisa. South Carolina seceded from the Union a few days ago."
"Oh? I hadn't heard."
"You will."
Her attitude softened a little. "Well, it's just what you've been waiting for. Now what?"
"I keep dancing till I get further orders, or till some overt act to overthrow the government is made."
"How long will you be with us?"
"I won't trouble you long. I'll enjoy the Hudson hospitality today, but my real business is with Dobson. Then I'm on my way north again." He told her briefly of some of the schemes.
"Actually it's very intriguing, isn't it?" she offered, turning on her side as she listened to him. "I knew Senator Taylor was a schemer!"
"He and Melville come closest of all to each other's thinking. Although Melville said little to reveal exactly what his thoughts are, he seemed very impressed with Taylor's ideas―as if he'd heard an outline of the senator's plans before."
Louisa stared thoughtfully at Aaron. "It's a strange situation for you to be in; isn't it―opposed, not aligned with, these men?"
Aaron's face grew pensive then turned cold, but his eyes burned into her. "There are many things I want but can't have in this affair," he said, and they were silent for a few minutes, Louisa absolutely frozen in Aaron's gaze. Then he relaxed, seeming to have lost his train of thought when one of the packages he'd brought to her room slipped from the bed.
Aaron bent to pick it up from the floor. ''Merry Christmas, Mrs. Hudson," he said, handing the pale, tissue-wrapped gift to her. "Something to match your eyes."
Louisa smiled at him gently. "Thank you. I'll wait to open it with the others."
"If you wish."
Louisa hesitated. "You know I've never been able to do that," she said, immediately untying the elaborate blue satin bow. "Obviously someone else tied this for you," she laughed.
"Obviously," he smiled. Louisa unwrapped the package and unfolded a blue silk nightdress. Its design was very simple, without sleeves, with a gathered neckline. The hem, neckline, and armholes were edged with white eyelet lace, threaded with narrow pink satin ribbons.
"It's very pretty. Thank you," she said, folding it again.
"I hoped to see it on."
Louisa laughed. "I'm sure you did!" she said casually. "What else do you have there?" She reached for the other small package.
"Something for Rachel."
"Ah, Aaron, how thoughtful." There was surprise in her voice. "Let me see. Rachel won't know what to do with a wrapped package. I'll have to unwrap it for her."
He handed the present to Louisa, and she discovered a small linen doll, exquisitely finished with silk-embroidered curls, and a pretty embroidered face. She was dressed complete with lace-trimmed pantaloons, and a gay pink frock. "Oh, she'll love it. It's just the right size for her little hands. How did you ever think of it?" She looked at him curiously.
"Arabella Melville."
"Thank you, Arabella." Louisa sat up in the bed, closed her eyes, and stretched. "Carmen should be bringing Rachel any minute. You should hear her," she said triumphantly, "she calls me 'Mama' and has accepted me as if I'd never left her," she sighed.
"That should've been easy," he said, pulling Louisa against him. She stiffened and tried to push him away at first, then slowly relaxed, and let him kiss her.
"What do you think you're doing?" she asked softly with her arms around him tightly.
"Getting a Christmas-morning hug is all."
"As long as you understand that's the extent of it!" Then she sighed sadly. "I wish you hadn't come," she whispered as if she meant it. "I never dreamed you'd come. I've no gifts for you."
Aaron groaned in a familiar way. ''We could say our gifts were exchanged in private," he offered with a hopeful grin.
"Mmmm. We could, but we won't," she said firmly, squirming out of his grasp.
At that moment there was a knock at the bedroom door. "Come in, Carmen," Louisa called cheerfully. "So good to see my girl," she cried, reaching out for Rachel with a sly smile to Aaron. "Just at the right moment, too," she giggled.
"What do you think of your daughter, Marshall? Who do you think she looks like?" she asked as Carmen left the room.
Aaron studied the gleeful child. "She has my eyes, or Marshall's, that is. Your nose." He studied Louisa for a few minutes. "Actually she looks like Andrew Sutton. You've seen the photographs, haven't you?" He seemed serious.
Louisa looked stunned, then frowned deeply. "I fail to see the humor in your suggestion," she said, clutching Rachel tightly all of a sudden.
Rachel let out a squeal. "Sorry, baby, Mama didn't mean to hold you so tightly," Louisa apologized. "Here, see what your papa brought you," she said glumly, offering the pretty doll to Rachel. Rachel's eyes lit up as she squeezed the doll in her hands. She made a variety of obviously pleased, untranslatable comments, which made both Aaron and Louisa laugh, then put the doll in her mouth for further inspection. "A pretty baby for my pretty baby."
Then Louisa offered Rachel to Aaron. "Will you hold her while I get a dressing gown on?"
Rachel went to Aaron without hesitation, with charming smiles for his seemingly natural banter as he sat with her on the bed, Louisa covertly watching the two as she tied the sash of a blue-gray dressing gown over her pink challis nightdress. She was frowning again. but neither Aaron nor Rachel noticed. Why she wondered, had Aaron compared her child to Andrew Sutton? To tease her? To pique her anger? To insult her? Louisa had also made the disturbing comparison, and for some unexplainable reason she had not been able to dismiss the thought. Now, suddenly, what should have been only a fleeting, annoying observation became an obsession, an unavoidable and very real thorn in her side.
Chapter Ninety
EVERYONE had gone to bed. The house was quiet, and she was tired from the long and pleasant day. She lay in bed for over an hour, but did not sleep. She seemed to be waiting for something. Someone. Louisa was uncomfortably conscious of her mood, and she frowned in the dark. "I am not waiting for him," she said aloud, as if to reassure herself.
Don't lie to yourself, came the immediate reply inside her head.
Louisa kicked off the covers and sat up, drawing her legs against her body, clasping her arms around her knees. For several long minutes, she sat and stared out the bedroom window, listening, watching―waiting. "I am waiting for you," she whispered finally, sitting in the soft nightgown Aaron had given her early that morning. She knew she wore it hoping he would come back tonight and see her in it just as he had wished.
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