Aaron sighed impatiently, and gave Louisa a vexed look. "Just fine, señora. She sends you her best wishes."
"How thoughtful."
"Why do you pursue it, Louisa? You know I won't lie to you."
"I must be insane," she said coldly. "It's in my blood."
"I know! I've worried about you on more than one occasion!"
"You've actually worried about me? How flattering!"
"But I'm not worried now. You appear irritatingly healthy. And scrappy as ever."
"I'm just fine, thank you," she snapped, and it seemed there was nothing more to say. Aaron was suddenly silent, regretting he'd come after her, but within minutes Louisa relaxed against him and some of his anger slipped away. "I missed you, Aaron," she sighed without apology, kissing his cheek and trying to nestle more closely against him.
"Is that right?"
"Where have you been?"
"Racing up and down the coast waiting for some definite move to be made."
"Then what will you do?"
"God knows! I've been ordered to lie low, which, sure as hell, makes me wonder why I was ever sent on this damnable mission. There's already enough evidence in Melville's files to hang more than a few men for treason."
"And what brings you here? Tell me you came just to see me," she teased, kissing him again.
"I would, but you'd no doubt learn I escorted Brockheim's daughter to San Diego. She's about as high-strung as you are, and her father wanted some peace and quiet."
"And you?"
This time Aaron laughed at her frank jealousy. "She's a homely, pale peasant. Satisfied?"
"Should I be?"
"Louisa," Aaron said with a warning note in his voice, "I've a night here with you, maybe two. I hope to spend it just as you do," he said, moving a hand under her cloak, beginning to caress her breasts. She twisted her hips, turning a little more to face him in the saddle, kissing his mouth with the warmth he longed for.
"But we're not far from home," she whispered, when he suggested they lie in the sand.
"What shall I say to Emma when I sail past her with you in my arms? I could nod her a greeting as I kick the bedroom door shut," he suggested, lowering Louisa to the sand.
Louisa giggled. "It would be awkward, but I think she'd understand," she said as Aaron joined her, leading them to a sheltered spot away from the water against the cliffs.
"You two are getting on better than I expected."
"We get along remarkably," she said, wrapping her arms around him tightly as they lovingly began to renew their knowledge of why they could not forget each other, all thoughts dissolving into wonderful sensations, all sound but their own soft cries erased by the wind.
For Aaron something happened when he made love to Louisa that never happened in anyone else's arms. He was at a loss to explain what made this blending of his body with hers so profoundly good. At times it was something of a frightening mystery, but for now it was only a joy to relish, a feeling beyond all others, and the reasons did not matter. Louisa's kiss held him, soothed and inflamed him, and the deep passion he mysteriously felt for no one but Louisa poured out of him.
"You bewitch me," he said, kissing her gently and repeatedly when they lay quietly side by side, both just beginning to regain their awareness of the world around them.
Louisa smiled, taking the kisses from his lips as if they were sips of nectar and she were dying of thirst. When they were separated, she often felt as if she were withering in the heat of the sun, but while she lay in his embrace, she had a sense of blooming, a sense of peace and perfection, of great contentment, hope, and joy. "If only these feelings could last forever," she thought now in the churning wind, gradually feeling the cold as their warmth slipped away from them.
Soon they reluctantly rode back to the house and greeted Emma Hudson, who had been waiting. "You're looking very fit, son," she said, pouring tea for the three of them as the radiant couple seated themselves before her. "How long will you be with us?"
"Not long. I'm only here to bring Herman Brockheim's daughter to San Diego. You've not met him, but he's embroiled in the plot now, too. One of my duties is to keep him happy."
"Oh?" Emma seemed surprised. "There could only be one man in California with that name, surely. Short, stout; a sometimes crippled man? His daughter was, let me see, Esperanza, correct?"
"Correct." Aaron felt suddenly uneasy.
"Didn't she marry recently? I traveled with the family from Mexico, up the California coast on my way north. She was to have married soon after arriving home, I believe."
"She refused at the last minute."
"Again?" Emma laughed, rolling her eyes.
"I'm surprised such a homely girl would have so many suitors," offered Louisa, her eyes narrowing fiercely on Aaron.
"Whatever gave you that idea, Louisa?" asked Emma. "Esperanza Brockheim is far from ugly."
"Marshall described her just that way for me," she said coolly, but with her eyes blazing.
Emma stopped stirring her tea, and added a little cream to the hot liquid. "I suppose it's a matter of opinion. Now, tell me, Andrew, what messages do you schemers have from Simon?" she added hastily.
Louisa did not linger to hear the reply, nor did she bother to excuse herself. Her face burning with color, and her thoughts in angry disorder, she went directly to her room and turned the lock, slowly changing her clothes for dinner, glad Aaron did not follow her. Her head seemed to reel with confusion and disappointment. What possible pleasure could he take in making a fool of her, she wondered. Especially since it was so easy for him to do so.
Louisa only left her room when Carmen rang the brass bell for dinner. At the table she was polite, but decidedly icy, so Emma carried the burden of conversation. Louisa refused even to look at Aaron, escaping from the dining room with a fretful Rachel as quickly as possible, gratefully rocking and playing with her baby on the floor of the nursery playroom, almost able to forget the unpleasant turn of events.
For nearly an hour mother and child lay opposite each other on an eyelet-edged comforter, Louisa tantalizing and amusing Rachel with various soft toys. But when Aaron entered the room, Louisa's smiles faded to a frown, and when he sat next to her, reaching his arms out for the baby, Rachel grinned with a special light in her very brown eyes.
Louisa felt her body stiffen with displeasure. "She certainly could be your baby from the way she responds to you," Louisa grumbled, tossing a clothstuffed toy at him with obvious scorn.
"She could. But it wouldn't please you in the least, would it?"
"Not in the least!"
"She's a lot more agreeable than her mother. Perhaps she's acquired her father's sunnier nature," he said, baiting her pleasantly.
"Perhaps," Louisa said quietly, and leaned to give Rachel a kiss. "Good night, lovey," she sighed, then stood. "Soledad will take her when you two have finished your tête à tête," she added curtly, motioning to the woman who sat unobtrusively in a corner of the room. Then Louisa hastily retreated, turning the key in her door and also in the door to the bath. She disrobed for bed, and was half-naked when she heard Aaron try the door. He rattled the handle several times.
"Let me in, Louisa," he demanded firmly.
"No!" she replied with equal force, quickly removing the rest of her clothes and slipping into a heavy robe, securely tying the sash around her waist.
His voice was louder this time. "I came for the night, remember?"
"But you'll not be spending it in my bed!"
There were a few seconds of total silence, then the house shook as Louisa's door buckled on its hinges. Louisa retreated to the far side of the room, furious and suddenly afraid of Aaron's violent reaction.
''Stop it! Stop it, damn you!" she screamed, but the hinges of the door gave way under his assault. Aaron entered the room, and grabbed Louisa from the comer, lifting her into his arms, then dumping her forcefully onto the bed.
"I came to spend the night in this bed next to you!" H
is voice was low but furious, and his eyes flashed with a cruelty Louisa had never seen in them before.
"I thought you came to deliver the German's homely daughter! Poor ugly child! You're so deceitful, Aaron! I suspect you haven't a truthful bone in your body."
Aaron glanced at Louisa for a moment then leaned the door against its opening, and turned back to her once more, his intentions obvious.
"No!"
"Yes!"
He moved toward her, quickly extinguishing the lamps. In the next instant he lay fully clothed next to her on the bed. For a few minutes Aaron did not touch Louisa, and as he undressed, he listened to her nervous breathing. He waited, expecting her fright as well as her anger to diminish, but she lay stiff and unbelieving, afraid to move, suddenly recalling the first night she'd spent with him. Then, she'd been afraid he'd rape her, and now the same apprehension filled her. The months they'd spent together had strangely come full circle. So much had happened between them, and yet not much had changed. They had been lovers, but it seemed they always remained adversaries.
When Aaron's hands slipped under the soft folds of her dressing gown, his mouth suddenly on her breasts, his fingers quickly penetrating the warmth inside her legs, Louisa tried desperately to withdraw from his touch. "Get away from me!" she demanded without much hope, trying to push him away. But she found herself crushed in his arms, his mouth· hungry and violent on hers. When she finally wrenched away from his kiss she was hysterical. "Don't you understand?" she cried, her voice shrill and full of tears. "I can't live with your lies. I don't want you to touch me. Don't you understand? I hate you, Aaron! I hate you!"
"Give in, Louisa," Aaron commanded as he struggled with her. "Take your pleasure, and don't ask for more." He held her surely, his fingers searching again for the softness her tense tight body now concealed, and when he bent to kiss her, she bit his lip with lashing anger.
"Don't touch me!" she screamed when he recoiled in shock and pain.
"Bitch!" he yelled, and slapped her face, grabbing her shoulders, dragging her to a sitting position. "You like the taste of blood?" he demanded, and again kissed her violently, his blood running into her mouth.
Louisa pulled away and ran from him, but he caught her easily, tearing off her robe, flinging her roughly back onto the bed. She sobbed wildly, trying to retreat against the wall as far from him as possible. "Are you going to rape me, too?" she cried, the honest terror in her voice stopping him midmotion. In spite of his great fury, her question, and the sound of her voice, ripped into his flesh like a knife.
He had raised his hand to slap her a second time, and now he stood motionless, slowly lowering his arm to his side. For endless minutes, Louisa watched Aaron's silent shadowy figure in the terrifying darkness, all the while pressing her body more forcefully against the wall, unable to move or make a sound, watching as Aaron sat down on the edge of the bed with his back to her, as if she weren't there. Frozen in her exaggerated posture, Louisa watched Aaron dress with what seemed weighted slowness, and when he left her, he left the room and the house without another word, and without once looking back. Then Louisa collapsed into the unconsoling bed, and for a long while stared after him, shocked to hear herself weeping, not in fear, nor even with relief, but as if she were grieving.
Chapter Ninety-five
As if someone had heard Luther Dobson's entreaty, California's support of the Union cause heightened. Secret and not-so-secret organizations in favor. of the South brought out at least equal support for Northern ideology. A Pacific States Republic banner was raised in Central California. Overnight word spread throughout the state, and soon American flags were flying in protest. A furious war of words was launched in the California press and in her pulpits, but still the question of loyalty was unresolved.
When Fort Sumter was fired on on April 9, 1861, the state's mood grew especially tense, and a new military general suddenly appeared from Washington to take over the command of the West's military forces. General Johnston resigned his San Francisco command and left California to join the Confederate Army. His replacement was definitely a matter of loyalty, but Colonel Hill remained in his position, affirming his own loyalty to the Union. His roots had so obviously taken in the West, his sincerity was not questioned further, and he expected to rely on his charming wife to dissuade the new general from any lingering doubt. From San Francisco, Colonel Hill wrote to Marguerite in Monterey. He summoned her, and she turned her back on Crane's Nest for good.
Not long after, others at the estate had similar inclinations, but there was no overt sign. Since his last encounter with Louisa, Aaron's temper was restive and at times decidedly black. He forced her from his thoughts, blaming his do-nothing orders from Russell for his irritable moods, and threw himself into the details of the Santa Catalina project. To those at the Monterey estate, he appeared to have become something of a zealot. Franklin Carson could only shake his head at the resolve and tension he observed in Marshall Hudson, but, he reflected, everyone's nerves, not just William Easton's, seemed to be at the breaking point.
In early May, William Easton accompanied Arabella Melville on a short trip to the stone house in San Francisco. There were a few details she wanted to oversee in the temporary closing of her house, a number of possessions she wanted with her in Monterey. While they were in San Francisco, Easton paid his respects to Marguerite. She was cordial, all the while wondering what brought the man to her door, and a little perplexed when he left without giving her any significant message. When he appeared a second time, she grew even more curious.
"William, it's not like you to make such informal visits."
"I'm merely renewing our friendship while Arabella collects her treasures," Easton answered politely.
"Well, it's always a pleasure to entertain you, William, but you seem to have something more than refreshment on your mind." She poured the man more tea, and herself a glass of sherry, relaxing into soft cushions, stretching her long legs casually over the length of the couch. "Is there something in particular I can do for you? I know I have something you want," she said softly. "You've not come merely for tea."
Easton's eyes narrowed momentarily. There was a note in her voice she'd never before used with him and he found the invitation nearly irresistible. But he thought better of it. She was too beguiling to be trusted. Better to state his business, then follow up other suggestions at another time. "I would appreciate an introduction to General Johnston's replacement, Marguerite. I know you are, by now, well acquainted with him."
"Such a simple request, William? Of course, I can arrange for you to meet General Hoffmann. You needn't have been so sly in your request. But why does Peter have you approach me in so roundabout a fashion? You need only have asked. You, of course, can come to dinner tomorrow evening? Would Arabella care to come?"
"Tomorrow will be perfect." Easton's face lit up cheerfully. "But I prefer to come alone."
"Alone it is, William; but I'll see to it you won't be lonely. It's going to be a lively occasion. I'm anticipating some of our favorite wines and foods will be harder to come by in the near future, so our party tomorrow will be extravagant. I'm thinking of it as rather like the last event of the season."
"Aren't you being rather pessimistic about the future, Marguerite?"
"Aren't you?" she asked coyly, and he only stared at her coldly, abruptly standing to leave.
"Thank you very much for the tea, and for your kind invitation."
"My pleasure, I'm sure." She waved at Easton with her glass, ringing for a servant to escort him to the door, rising to watch him leave her house in Melville's fine landau carriage. She wondered what his purposes were, suspecting she would never learn of his mission from his lips. He's come representing himself, this time, she conjectured, and her curiosity was piqued beyond endurance.
Marguerite's thoughts turned to Aaron, and the skillful ways he'd kept her interested in him. Lately she was uncertain just what his motives had been in seeking her out. She sighed
in the increasing grayness of the afternoon light, and leaned into the cushions of the cut velvet couch once again. Everyone at Crane's Nest had secrets, she remembered. Some they seemed to share with one another; others they kept to themselves. It had merely been her pleasure to mingle with a few of the men there, not yet learning many secrets, but "there's still time," she suggested aloud, and sure, at least for the moment, that Aaron's reasons for approaching her had been simply a matter of desire, she closed her eyes to dwell on what, for her, were very pleasant memories.
The next evening's party was just as festive as Marguerite had hoped. Her table was laden with food and her guests were exceedingly well satisfied. French champagne flowed more freely than water in the fountain at the house's entryway, and anyone coming onto the gathering would have believed the guests were celebrating some momentous occasion. Forty wellheeled partygoers lifted their voices in general merriment and the occasion lasted well into the morning.
Just as she'd promised, Marguerite introduced Easton to General Hoffmann, watching whenever she could to see what interaction occurred between the two men. But not until late in the evening did she have anything on which to speculate.
About midnight, as most guests collected along the edges of the patio to listen to her accomplished fiddlers, William Easton approached General Hoffmann for more than idle conversation. The general was an impressive mart His appearance spoke well of his selection for command. His bearing, his apparent dignity seemed to demand respect, and respectfully was just how Easton approached him. Yet William Easton did not in the least lack for dignity himself. Tonight he was especially polished, informed, and precise. He had information the general wanted and he spoke to get the man's attention.
Tonight William Easton was playing a role vastly different from the one he preferred, but nevertheless he performed with poise and distinction. He was no ordinary informant, but one of studied loyalty to his country, a man of conscience, even if his devotion was a bit delayed. At first the men spoke of General Johnston and the unfortunate circumstances that divided the nation. Easton's remarks enabled him to draw General Hoffmann a little distance from the crowd, and slowly the man's full attention was focused on William.
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