They exchanged looks through the darkness, both knowing that rest was the last thing on either of their minds.
After only a moment’s hesitation, she sank to the black velvet that held the warmth and the scent of her lover’s own body. When they kissed this time, he was lying next to her. She trembled slightly, Adelaide’s words still echoing in her mind and heart.
Jacques moved closer, pressing until she felt the heat and strength of his loins. His arms slid around her, pulling her ever nearer, until her aching breasts were tight against his chest. Before she knew what was happening, he was making her mindless—kissing her eyelids, stroking her neck, fondling her breasts. It took a bit of maneuvering and fumbling at clothing for them to get to each other, but moments later she felt the cool night air on her bare thighs, followed by Jacques’ gentle touch.
Soon, Lou understood fully what Adelaide’s words had meant. Before the driver called out to them, Louise Manigault Robillard had become Jacques St. Julian’s wife—by deed if not by word. She felt marvelous! She could hardly wait to become Madame St. Julian, to lie with Jacques each night for the rest of their lives and do the heart-bursting, soul-blazing things they had done in the woods.
As they rode on toward the plantation, Jacques held her gently and whispered words of love and assurance. It was meant to be. They had nothing to be ashamed of. They would be married in the spring, as soon as he returned to Savannah. They would have a glorious life together. He would build her a fine mansion on one of the squares. They would fill it with children and happiness and love.
Louise could only smile at his words. She needed no mansions to be happy with Jacques. She would love him in a cottage or a hut on a desert island. All she needed for happiness was the man himself holding her close, kissing her senseless, making her his own.
She knew she should be totally happy at this moment, but it seemed that despite all Jacques’ promises and pledges of love, a dark shadow had passed over her heart.
“You do love me, don’t you?” he begged when she remained silent.
“Oh, yes, Jacques! More than a woman has a right to love any man. I fear I may make God Himself angry, I worship you so.”
They held each other tightly then, knowing that only a few more minutes remained to them before they would turn off the levee road and into the long allée of oaks that led to her cousins’ plantation house.
Suddenly, they heard a sound thundering in the distance, growing louder every moment. Jacques raised the window curtain and peered out. Just then their horse reared and screamed, almost upsetting the carriage. They could hear the driver yelling, trying to gain control of his frightened beast.
“’Tis a runaway, sir. Coming right for us,” their driver yelled down.
Jacques leaned out the window and looked ahead. “Good God, he’s right!”
Lou watched in horror as Jacques opened the door and leaped out. His timing was flawless. He managed to grip the side of the driverless carriage as it hurtled past. She screamed his name, but too late.
When their own driver finally stopped the horse, she jumped down onto the road atop the levee. In the distance, she saw Jacques clinging to the side of the careening carriage. He wrenched the door open just as horse and vehicle plunged off the levee into the angry water swirling below. Lou ran toward the scene of the accident, screaming Jacques’ name with every breath she took.
Almost at once, she saw a woman’s head bob to the surface. The driver jumped from the levee into the water to lend aid.
“Take my child!” the frantic mother cried.
The driver plucked the baby from her arms and all but tossed the infant to Lou. She caught it and held it—wet, squalling, and wriggling—in her arms. Next the hysterical young mother was hoisted to the bank. Her heart pounding until it ached, Lou waited for Jacques to swim to the surface. Again and again their driver plunged beneath the murky water, searching.
The sobbing woman, clinging to Lou and her baby, cried over and over, “He saved us. Your husband saved us. God bless him, he saved my baby!”
But God had no earthly blessing for Jacques St. Julian that night. He never resurfaced. His body was found, days later, downriver. He was still tangled in the carriage lines along with the dead horse.
As the realization came to Louise, there on the levee, that the man who had made love to her such a short time ago would never take her into his arms again, she grew still and cold.
Mary Scarlett, too, stopped her thrashing and wailing and settled into grim silence on Dr. Schlager’s couch. She was shivering so that Helga covered her with a second blanket.
“On the count of three, Miss Lamar! One, two, three!” Dr. Schlager repeated for the tenth time. “You will awaken!”
Her tear-swollen eyes blinked open. She stared at Helga and the doctor blankly “Where am I?”
“Thank God,” the doctor said.
Helga sat down beside Mary Scarlett and took her cold hands. “How do you feel?”
“Strange.”
“Do you remember what happened?” Helga sounded perfectly calm, but Schlager, who never drank in the daytime, poured himself a stiff shot of brandy to settle his nerves.
“Jacques,” Mary Scarlett whispered. “Jacques is dead.”
“He died long ago,” Helga said. “Long before you were born.”
Mary Scarlett shook her head slowly. “No. He made love to me. I remember.”
“In another lifetime.”
She frowned and blinked several times, trying to clear her senses. “Yes,” she said at last. “But I remember.”
“He loved you deeply.”
“As I loved him. I must find him.” Mary Scarlett sat up suddenly and the room spun around her.
Helga pressed her back down. “Slowly. Gently, Mary Scarlett. Your first experience at regression was not an easy one. Give yourself time to recover. Doctor?” Helga looked toward Schlager. “I think a drop of that brandy might be in order.”
Both women watched the doctor’s shaking hands as he filled a small snifter. Mary Scarlett took it from him and sipped it slowly.
“I want to go back,” she said, handing him the empty glass. “I want to know the rest. What happened to Louise? How could she live after Jacques drowned? I have to know.”
Dr. Schlager removed his glasses and cleaned them with his handkerchief, stalling for time. “I am not sure that would be a good idea. Not this afternoon. You have been through a tragic episode. It could do you great harm to rush—”
“It could do me greater harm not to know. I insist, Dr. Schlager.”
Mary Scarlett flattened herself on the couch again and stared up at the chandelier. She replayed in her mind the very words Dr. Schlager had spoken to hypnotize her before. He was still talking to her, pleading with her to wait, when he realized that she was already beginning her journey back.
“Good God, she has left us again!” Schlager cried. “She’s performed self-hypnosis.”
“Guide her, Manfred,” Helga urged. “She mustn’t do this alone. We must help.”
“Mary Scarlett? Can you hear me?” he asked.
Eyes closed, she nodded slightly.
“Very well. You are back in Savannah. What happened in New Orleans is still a painful memory, but life goes on. Tell us what is happening, please.”
A smile lit her face. “I am happy. There is a new man in my life.”
“Ah, you are in love again?”
“No. Jacques was the one and only love of my life and I have faith that we will meet again sometime in the distant future. But he has left me a gift. Even now, his son’s heart beats beneath my own. I do believe that Jacques’ spirit will live on with me through this child of our love.”
“And will you raise this love-child alone?”
“No. I am married now. My cousins arranged it. When I returned to Savannah, I was accompanied by my betrothed, a gentle man twice my age. Auguste LeFont Fenwick. He lost his wife two
years ago in childbirth. He has a son older than I and three younger children as well, two girls and a boy. Jacques’ son will be but one more in my ready-made brood. It is for the best that this child of our passion will have a father to guide him and brothers and sisters to love and protect him. Jacques would approve.”
“And what does your husband think of this child that you carry?”
“He believes it to be his own. A small deception on my part for the sake of his happiness.”
“Will you ever tell him the truth?”
“Never. What good could such a confession bring? Auguste will be my son’s father in every way save one.”
“Move ahead through the years,” Dr. Schlager instructed. “Beyond the birth of your child. A son?”
“Of course,” she answered. “As I knew he would be. A brighter boy you never saw—glossy dark curls, eyes wide with wonder at all the world, and a temperament as sunny as the skies in June. I see Jacques in little Julian—his mannerisms, his laugh, the way he smiles at the slightest provocation. He is a strong, handsome lad of six now.” Mary Scarlett paused. Her expression changed to one of sadness.
“What is troubling you, my dear?” Schlager asked.
“Seven years have passed since that dreadful night. Why can I never put it out of my mind? Auguste is so good to me. I love all his children almost as much as I love my own son. We have a wonderful life—a lovely house in the city, a summer haven on the Salts at the Isle of Hope. We have friends galore and young people in and out of our house every day. I am never idle, with my family, my church, my charity work. So why must my heart remain forever a prisoner in the dust of the past?”
“What year is this?”
“Eighteen hundred and twenty-seven. The country is at peace again after the terrible second revolution. Would that I could know such peace. I hear Jacques calling to me, urging me to join him. How can I, though? I must stay with little Julian.”
Helga whispered, “Her death will come soon, Manfred. Perhaps that is why she hears Jacques calling to her.”
He nodded. “Tell us how you left this world, but without actually reliving it or experiencing the pain.”
“There was no pain,” she answered in a calm, quiet voice. “It was in the summer of the following year at our cottage by the sea. The night before had been too hot to sleep. I had tossed and turned in a fever for two days and nights, unable to eat the smallest morsel. I could only sip water a few drops at a time. I became delirious, my mind wandering old familiar paths. Long after midnight, his voice began calling me. Softly at first, then louder, with more urgency. He offered relief from my misery and my pain. I rose an hour before dawn, following the sweet echo, trying to find my love. I crawled from my bed, stumbled out of the house and down the stairs. I fell and had to lie in the sand for a long time to regain strength enough to go on. Had it not been for the sound of his voice, urging me on, I might have stayed where I fell. Slowly, I dragged myself to my feet. Clinging to bushes along the path, I made my way unsteadily to the beach. There a cool, clean breeze eased my burning flesh. I sank to the damp sand, grateful for the relief. The first light of dawn was just breaking when I saw a figure coming toward me.”
“Who was this person?”
“At first, I didn’t know. I could not see his face. As he drew closer, I recognized him, and, oh, the joy! It was Jacques come to take me with him. He leaned down and kissed my forehead with cool lips. Then he slipped his arm around my waist and raised me from the water’s edge. He took my hands in his and smiled down at me. His wonderful kiss seemed to chase away the last of my fever. He nodded toward the water, where the sun was rising like a great fiery ball out of the sea. We walked into the waves. I could feel his love, as alive as it had ever been. I knew he meant to have me with him at last. Deeper and deeper we went until finally the gently lapping water closed over us both. As the sun rose in all its glory, I passed into an even brighter light—the sweet light of eternity.”
Helga looked at Schlager, her eyes sad and troubled. Suicide, she mouthed silently.
The doctor frowned at Helga and shook his head. “She was ill, out of her mind with fever” To Mary Scarlett he said, “You left your son. How sad that he had to grow up without his mother.”
“I did not leave him. I was there with Julian always. His father and I both were. You must understand that love as great as Jacques and I shared simply could not be denied. Without him I was a mere shade moving through life.”
“Where are you now?”
“Right here, with the entity Mary Scarlett. She now wears my soul. Since I did not finish my full span of years of the earthly plane, it has been my task to watch over those who have been unfortunate in life. I have been a part of her since the terrible night she was conceived, since her father in a drunken rage forced her mother to submit to his angry lust. No fruit of such a coupling can enter into life with an easy road ahead. Life is difficult at best—our period of trial and pain. A wise man has said, ‘We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.’”
Schlager nodded. He knew the quote from Pierre Teilhard de Chardin.
“What do you see ahead for the entity Mary Scarlett?”
“Happiness … or sadness. It all depends. She is living a delusion.”
“Explain please.”
“She has found our Jacques. But she will not admit this to herself until she finds this mirror she believes in. She must see his face there in order to know the truth.”
“You are saying the mirror has no real power?”
“The power is in the belief. Mary Scarlett believes. Therefore, the power is real, at least to her.”
“Like voodoo,” Schlager said in an aside to Helga. “The true believer can actually be killed by a conjure.”
“Exactly,” Helga answered.
“So, she must find this mirror?”
“She must.”
“Do you know where it is?”
A long silence followed. Mary Scarlett went very still. Only the slightest rise and fall of her chest revealed that she was still breathing.
Finally, in her protector’s voice, she said, “I knew for many years. It was there where it had always been. But now? I am not certain. Someone sent it away. No one here on this side seems to know its whereabouts. We have all been searching, but a mist of clouds seems to cloak its hiding place.”
“Will you keep searching?”
“We will.”
“We shall remain in touch to hear your progress on this matter. Have you any words of wisdom for the entity Mary Scarlett?”
“Beware!” The word echoed in the silent room.
Mary Scarlett stirred on the couch. She was coming out of her hypnotic state.
“Gently, Mary Scarlett,” the doctor soothed. “I will count. You will awake refreshed and feeling well and happy.”
Mary Scarlett’s eyes shot open. “I knew I was right about the identity of the woman in my aura.”
“And a very delightful spirit she is,” Helga said with a smile.
Mary Scarlett nodded her agreement. “But she’s wrong about Jacques. I don’t know who he is in this life. I won’t know until I find the mirror.”
“She explained that,” Dr. Schlager reminded her. “But the knowledge is yours, Mary Scarlett, even without seeing his face in the mirror.”
Helga frowned at him and shook her head gently. He could no more reverse Mary Scarlett’s beliefs than he could undo a voodoo curse. It would be folly to try.
“Lou will find it for me,” Mary Scarlett said confidently, “and then I will know for sure.”
It was already dark outside. The session had been long and exhausting. Dr. Schlager and Helga both looked frazzled and weary. Only Mary Scarlett looked fresh, wide awake, and alert.
“Shall I call you a taxi, my dear?” Schlager wanted nothing so much as a drink, a light supper, and bed.
Mary Sc
arlett was considering his offer when the telephone rang. Helga went into the next room to answer it, then called to Mary Scarlett.
She looked to Dr. Schlager. “Is it all right for me to get up now?”
“But of course, my dear. You are fine.”
When she took the receiver from Helga, the sound of Bolt’s voice brought a smile to her lips.
“You’re finished?”
“Yes.”
“How did the session go?”
Mary Scarlett could hardly hear him for the loud, brassy music in the background. Where could he be? “It went marvelously! I spoke with Louise, the woman in my aura. Actually, I guess she spoke through me. Anyway, I know who she is and she’s a friendly spirit. She’s with me for my own protection.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Bolt said. “Are you ready—?” His final words were drowned out by a loud burst of music and raucous cheers.
“Bolt, I can’t hear you. Where are you?”
“Still working,” he answered.
“Not at your office, that’s for sure.”
“No. I’m with a client, but we’ve finished our business. I’ll be leaving here soon. Want me to pick you up? We could grab a quick bite somewhere, then I have to get home and pack.”
“Pack? Where are you going?”
“To Atlanta on business.”
“You didn’t mention taking a trip.”
“Didn’t know until I met with this client. It’s urgent, Mary Scarlett. I don’t have any choice in the matter.” Again the music and the cheers swelled to a deafening roar. “Look, I’ll explain when I see you. I can be there in about twenty minutes.”
“Never mind, Bolt. I’ll call a cab back to your place. See you in a while.”
“Shortly,” Bolt answered, then hung up.
Seeing the troubled look on Mary Scarlett’s face, Schlager asked, “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know. Bolt said earlier that he had to meet a new client, a Mr. Tollison from Sea Island. But it certainly sounded like he was calling from a nightclub.”
“Tollison! Well, I am impressed. R. A. Tollison is a man of great wealth and distinction, a rising star in state politics. Perhaps destined to be a presidential hopeful at some time in the future. Conrad has done well to secure him as a client.”
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