Ford, Jessie

by Remember Me Love

  Louisa and Aaron lingered at the table briefly, then relaxed in silence on the terrace underneath the balcony which extended from their own room. When it became apparent Easton and Carson would be occupied for some length of time, Louisa and Aaron's lack of conversation turned to smiles, and to giggles on Louisa's part. "I blame it on the wine," she said, meeting Aaron's unmistakable look of lust with gales of helpless laughter. "And to the fact that I am exhausted."

  "And a little rest might revive you?" he grinned, standing to escort her.

  "I've no doubt about it," she replied knowingly. "Would you care to assist me up the stairs?" The assignation made, they moved quietly into the house and slowly climbed the long graceful staircase, arm in arm, seemingly alone, little by little drawing ever more closely together.

  "Who else that I already know will be coming here?" she whispered, sheltered by his arm held around her tightly.

  His reply was hushed. "Probably Peter Melville is the only other person you know. He's the third member of the financial and political hierarchy―Carson and Simon being the other two. Easton is a puppet monarch, to be tolerated only as long as his presence is useful. Melville is the most ruthless of the three." He stopped when they reached their door, and when it was closed securely behind them, Aaron released Louisa from his comforting grasp and walked thoughtfully by himself to the balcony windows. He drew the sheer draperies aside, his legs spread, arms raised, reaching out, leaning his body against the wooden frame. He was silent for some minutes. Louisa remained near the doorway where he had left her side. She was mildly surprised by his change of mood as she watched his pensive, almost sad figure bending before the bright glassed door. His lean powerful body, now accented in the sunlight, made her extremely aware of her own eager body. She had expected to find this man ready for an energetic, not very restful afternoon, but instead, when he turned to face her, she saw only weariness and tension. A responsive apprehension filled her as they moved wordlessly toward each other, meeting at the center of the room, not touching, both wondering what lay within the other's mind, their earlier careless mood dispelled.

  "I feel I must warn you about the distinguished Peter Melville. Never trust him for an instant; never turn your back to him." His look was tender, protective; his voice hard, threatening. He stared at her flawless skin, her intensely blue eyes surrounded by thick dark lashes, at the sensuous, promising mouth, reminding himself the woman before him was a mixture of strength and vulnerability.

  Louisa did not interrupt him, watching as his eyes drifted over her face, then thoughtfully, rather than erotically, gazed at her body. He brought his hands to her waist, casually encasing her slimness in the expanse of his grip, tightening his hold briefly, then releasing her. "Melville is responsible for Marshall's murder―at least, for the order. He's the man we'll have to reckon with." His words were cold, precise, and after they were uttered, he was silent and the abrupt stillness in the room rushed over them in waves.

  Aaron gave Louisa no opportunity to react, his shifting moods holding her full attention. He now stared mutely at the flowers in her dress, in no way responsive to the shock she registered at his words. His gaze was fixed intently, almost quizzically. Then, as if he'd suddenly remembered something―someone―important, something he'd almost forgotten, he reached to touch the fabric of her gown. Slowly he began to trace an oddly familiar trail of small ice-blue bouquets from the high throat of the dress, down her breast, then along the placket of buttons, his fingers stopping just below her waist. His gentle touch made Louisa's pulse quicken and made her dress feel unbearably warm.

  The dress had no collar, its modest design softened by crisp ribbons of narrow lace edging her throat, the round neckline descending only far enough to expose the slight natural depression at the base of her throat. She saw something glint in Aaron's dark eyes as he moved his hand into the lace, carefully grasping the nearly hidden loops of a golden chain lying concealed beneath her dress. He looked at Louisa strangely, then suddenly let go of the chain, raising his hands to her hair, unpinning the careful curls and braided twists, scattering the fragrant garland of flowers he'd arranged there earlier. Louisa began to help, moving as if directed by his command, but none was given, though she listened, hearing nothing but his breathing, which, at times, almost seemed to stop. She was caught up in the longing she saw in his eyes, and by the grimace of agony she saw pass over his face. He was tensely absorbed in taking in the fragile beauty of the woman he caressed, yet he seemed not to see her. "What is it, Aaron?" she whispered, but he did not answer, for, in fact he did not hear her.

  When her hair was loose, and he had his fill of its softness, he undid the strand of buttons on the front of her dress only far enough to make his access to the necklace easy. He removed the heavy chain from the recesses of her bodice. Its ornaments were warm from the heat of her body as he held them in his hand. "Somehow, these don't seem to belong to you―perhaps, on another chain ..." He lifted the necklace over her head, catching it tightly in one of his hands, pushing the other into the thick mass of her hair, forcefully drawing her against him, bringing his hungry mouth to hers, lowering them into the bed. He let the chain fall beside them, turning his full attention to his growing passion to consume her, and to his own need to be consumed.

  His breathing was ragged, his desire for her as great as it had ever been, and Louisa responded in kind. They undressed each other, touching, searching joyfully along paths of pleasure, losing all touch with reality. Soon their cries were primitive and unrestrained, like the fire that raged inside them, with little tenderness in their embracing. Their joining was wild and fevered, easing what soared between them for the moment only, and for both, a disturbing hunger persisted. Neither would release the other, each coming into the atmosphere of full consciousness only for as long as was necessary before diving again into the warm, reassuring sea, hastening to submerge from all but the other's reach. They devoured each other with kisses, their fervor slowly turning gentle, soothing, giving. But all too soon, Louisa watched that same dark sadness cross Aaron's wonderful face, and his voice again filled more with the sound of agony than with ecstasy, frightening her, bringing up her own pain. "Aaron, Aaron," she called urgently, trying to reach him. "Tell me!"

  But he did not even hear her. Desperately, she tried to soothe him, but he was too distant, and Louisa was overcome with loneliness. She cried out to him, kissed and petted him, her mouth soft, wet, exciting on his body. Slowly, she turned over in his embrace, inviting him, and he 'thrust eagerly into her consoling vibrating warmth, moving steadily, fiercely, her own motions driving him more deeply into her. And, suddenly, against her cries of pleasure, in the midst of their heat and rhythm, Aaron was at last released to her, with her name on his lips, and in his heart, as well.

  Then he lay against her, their bodies still joined, both reluctant to be separate again. Aaron felt as if they had united with his love spoken out loud, and when she turned to face him, she held him fast in her arms. "So you have ghosts, too," she said quietly.

  He watched her, loving the soft, giving look of her. "A few," he replied gently, "but they rarely come out of the dark."

  "Mine have been instructed to stay there, too," she insisted emphatically. Then she shuddered and quickly nestled into him as if she were frightened.

  "Good luck," he sighed, kissing her deeply, and they both relaxed, their thoughts drifting separately, aimlessly, in the afternoon. Then he slapped her soundly on the backside, changing the mood intentionally. "You'd better dress, unless you want Easton to do more than leer. It's teatime, beautiful―but wear something a little more fetching." He motioned to her blue-flowered gown, now crumpled on the floor. "I don't care for that dress at all."

  "You could have fooled me!" she winced, reaching to rub his already visible red handprint on her skin. She got up, collecting their garments strewn about the bed and the floor. When she again turned her attention to Aaron, she found him examining the gold necklace he'd taken from
her throat, and she reached out for it. "I've never really cared for it," she said pensively, turning the locket and ring over in her fingers, "but Marshall gave it to me―probably on the night I conceived Rachel," and she glanced away, her words falling on him unobserved.

  Aaron merely smiled and propped himself up against the pillows, crossing his arms behind his head, and watched leisurely while Louisa arranged her hair and covered her wonderful body with a flattering, even seductive dress. Filling the role to perfect order, he thought. She was clever, he mused, intuitively so, and he wondered, almost absently, if she suspected him as the father of her child, or if she were only beginning to fit the pieces together. He had realized the possibility, even preferred to believe it was he who had filled her body with new life, finding it in no way changed his course. He believed the chance would only work to his advantage, should she ever take that night from out of her memories.

  Chapter Forty-six

  OVER the next week, the activity at Crane's Nest increased dramatically. Callers arrived from midmorning until late in the afternoon. Easton's time became less and less his own as the days passed. At first the intrusion on his privacy seemed to affect his usually polite temperament. But as the week wore on William's courtly manners reappeared, and he seemed at ease again. A few guests arrived and took up residence within the estate; others found quarters in Monterey. And finally, on the morning of the gala dinner William had planned for Aaron and Louisa's formal introduction to the emerging political society, Peter Ulysses Melville and his wife arrived.

  The event was not observed by either Aaron or Louisa, for they were occupied, as far as everyone else was concerned, in a pleasant outing with Samuel as guide. In fact, during the days they mingled very little with the few other houseguests, except at dinner which served to advance Marshall's changed political position, the evenings often turning into heated diatribes against pro-Union thought. No dissenting opinions were offered at these times―though the opposition's tactics and philosophy were debated between the serious planners on other occasions.

  On these evenings, Louisa was a glittering decoration amidst the men. In this era of California's rapid expansion and exploitation, not only were the numbers of women very limited, but a woman of her elegance and beauty was truly exceptional. There were hundreds of men for every woman in the state, and even the eyes of men of wealth and significance betrayed them. She felt relatively secure, her status as the wife of a soon-to-be-prominent aristocrat allowing her the freedom to amuse herself as a temptress―a role she hadn't played before any large audience for some time. Louisa soon realized she could tease and torment all she pleased, and retreat whenever it suited her―games to play when she got bored―and, oh, what boring times she anticipated in the company of the men who sat and plotted at Easton's table.

  Aaron was occupied with his political role, only occasionally looking to her, but careful for those present to note his adoration, his devotion, his obsession. It was she who had brought him here, his responsibility to her that enlightened his philosophical leanings, the fruit of their union which made him reconsider the future of his world―and of his fortune. And the others envied him and coveted Louisa, their respect for his capture of such a prize raising him in their esteem. The rumors of their affair, its duration, its ocean-and continent-spanning episodes titillated most, as did the looks and gestures of the couple. The show was made, and the audience was responsive.

  While Louisa mingled with these men, she could not help but overhear and eventually listen to their more serious discussions. And gradually the years of inattention to intellectual matters, especially to politics, began to come to an end. Her natural curiosity, her early training with good tutors―the same who helped shape Marshall's and, for a time, Andrew's minds―began to rise to the surface. She flirted safely before her admirers, and she listened and learned, finding her brain engaged again, though she was unable to publicly question the ideas she heard. These were not evenings to exchange ideas, or broaden thinking. It was a time of monologue.

  Her hours alone with Aaron were scarce enough, for even on their excursions with only Samuel in attendance, strategic information was passed between the men, with little opportunity for discussion of concepts she now wanted to pursue for the sake of expanding her own range of knowledge. And when she found herself alone with Aaron, he had had his fill of politics, and she, too, had little inclination to rehash the endless words, happy to engage in other pleasures in their private moments together.

  Her flirtations with those other men were not regarded seriously by Aaron, not seen by him as any sort of threat. She was, after all, meeting the obligations of her role. But he was not yet immune to her. He was confident her responses to him sprang from her deepest feelings, that for her no affair could ever be truly casual, but he wondered why she gave herself to him so openly, so freely. She must somewhere still be confusing him with Marshall―as she did on that night long ago. That had to be an answer. What else could explain her passion? She was a prize―he had only to look up in Easton's salon, and be reminded just how precious a jewel she was. Even those men of wealth and prominence in the company found her alluring, and few, if any, of them would disdain possession of her. Her loyalties to Marshall's memory explained most of her cooperation, he thought, though she was a creature of the flesh, something he knew better than any man alive. These were the explanations that seemed logical to him in those moments that required logic, and he remained uneasy in the wake of his own passion.

  The afternoon before Easton's carefully arranged festivities, Louisa indulged herself in leisurely preparation for the evening. Bathing seemed to be an art form in this house with its enormous sunken tubs made of lustrous enameled tiles, in rooms where the air was thick with steam and heavy with the aroma of eucalyptus. Today she was attended by Loo Kim, and Louisa wondered how William did without her, for Louisa seemed to be taking more and more of the girl's time.

  Often, without much trouble, Louisa lured Aaron into the water with her, where, time and inclination allowing, they seemed to do most of their conversing. But this afternoon, Louisa was alone with Loa Kim hovering about. After a splendid soak and a soothing massage from the young servant, whose abilities seemed unending, Louisa wanted to know more of the girl and began to question her, knowing with reasonable assurance that Loo Kim would not dare refuse to answer.

  Louisa sat, wound comfortably in a towel while the maid dried and prepared her hair, watching Loo Kim's activity from the mirror. "I'm very impressed with you," she began. "Mr. Easton is very lucky to have you in the house."

  Loo Kim responded with a slight bow, her hands busy with the dark golden tangles of Louisa's mane. "Please tell me how you came to be employed here―perhaps I could steal you from him?" she smiled.

  Loo Kim smiled gently, never ceasing her work. "I do not think so, madam. Oh, but, of course, you may inquire," she added hesitantly. "Mr. Easton bought my contract from Su Ling, and I am bound to him for a very long time."

  "What do you mean, he bought your contract?"

  Loo Kim's voice was always quietly restrained, but now her voice was hushed to the point of being nearly inaudible. Yet, she was careful to see that Louisa heard and understood every word, and it was as if these two were the real conspirators in the house. "In my country there is great poverty and hunger. It is not unusual, almost customary, for female children of promise to be sold for a sum of money―it is necessary, you must understand. Some of us are even lucky enough to come here to California as I did. We sell out labor for a time, and then, sometimes―if one is lucky―we are free to go home."

  "Is that what you want to do, Loo Kim? Go home to China?"

  "Oh, yes, and see my family."

  "The family that sold you?" Louisa found it hard to believe.

  "They had no choice. I am sorry if I am unable to make you understand my words. I have tried very hard to learn your language."

  "Oh, you've learned very well, Loo Kim."

  "It is
a great honor and hope to be with Mr. Easton, madam. I am treated very well. I would not have so much hope if I had stayed with Su Ling."

  "Why not?"

  "I would have been just another girl, perhaps."

  "I doubt you'd have been just another girl." Louisa laughed softly. "If so, my white sisters would find some way to see that your sisters were not imported, or, at least, not brought into their households."

  "Oh, most of us do not work as house servants!"

  "Oh?―Oh!" Louisa colored at her own simplicity. "I see," she said quietly, an old anger smoldering as she reflected on Loo Kim's status.

  Loo Kim heard the anger and worried that it was meant for her. "I am sorry to offend you, madam."

  "You do not in the least way offend me, Loo Kim," Louisa answered kindly. "I understand only too well what your position is," her voice now cold.

  But Loo Kim was confused by Louisa's altering emotions, and she hastened to make her understand. "If I had stayed in Su Ling's house, I was bound to seven years' contract. I am bound that many years to Mr. Easton. But in the cribs, I would be allowed one day off each month, but for every day I do not work, ten days is added to a contract, and there would be little hope. But, here, it does not seem to matter, I can work every day, and I have not been sick. It would not be so easy to stay well in the cribs."

  "I can just imagine!" was Louisa's startled response.

  "Most of the girls die before their contracts are up―but, even so, it would not be any better at home―perhaps they would not even live so long. I am very lucky I am in this house."

  "I guess you are, at that," replied Louisa, beginning to comprehend the girl's devotion to William, as odd as Louisa thought he was. "How old are you, Loo Kim?" she wondered suddenly.

  "You would say fifteen."

  "I would say―nothing," finding it hard to believe. Louisa looked at Loo Kim gently, trying not to frighten her, knowing her emotions were confusing the girl. She would have guessed they were the same age, but Loo Kim had a timelessly beautiful face, seeming both childish and worldly―which surely she must be, thought Louisa. Then she looked at her own beautiful face in the mirror. She stared long and deeply, concluding that although she had long ago relinquished her childhood, she too had some of the same look about her, and she felt a bond to the girl which Loo Kim never suspected.