"He seems quite interested and excited by it all...."
"That's not what I asked you, my dear."
"No. It wasn't." Louisa paused thoughtfully. ''You know, Aunt Emma, I'm about the least political creature ever designed. It's enough for me that Marshall is happily occupied in their schemes. My only concern is for his safety. I care nothing for the promises of being a member of the 'new aristocracy' William speaks of so enthusiastically." She stood and paced very slowly along the book-covered walls, circling the room silently. "Oh, I was caught up in the excitement of details before Alex arrived, but it merely spared me from dreadful boredom in this beautiful but lonely place. I fear it's all very dangerous business, though. And if the plans fail, if there are spies somewhere in their midst to give them away . . . treason is a hanging offense. And lynching is a sport in California; the mobs have been known to cry loudly for blood," Louisa shuddered, then continued.
"From all I've heard, the plotting is careful, as well as daring, but truthfully, I'd prefer Marshall were out of it. He's much too precious to me. I care nothing for prominence. I'd just as soon live well out of the intrigue."
"Even though your life has always been lived among the scions of politics and society? What else do you know?"
"Perhaps my desire to retreat is because of my alltoo-clear memory of life at that level," Louisa replied politely but harshly. "My memories of the elite of society are extremely bitter. I know very little of what it's like to live simply, but if I could choose, I would at least try―but as yet it is not within my power to choose. I am Marshall's wife, and I will do his bidding."
Emma stared thoughtfully at her beautiful, now very determined daughter-in-law. "As much as I love my son, Louisa, from experience, I caution you to question even the man you love. Never do anyone's bidding blindly. Know what it is you stand to lose, and be certain you are willing to sacrifice whatever it is you have chosen to risk."
Louisa sat down and listened to Marshall's mother. Her voice was quiet, her words almost wistful. "My error was to see only what I wanted to see, to hear only what was pleasing to my ear, to acknowledge only the pleasant, and ignore the painful. I can no longer afford such luxury―it seems Simon and his fellows would risk more than you or I care to offer to the bargain."
Louisa did not reply. She only stared helplessly at her hands which were now folded tightly in her lap. Emma's confessional words rang in her ears. Were they overlaid with double meaning, Louisa wondered, or were her nerves only on edge? Emma was very calm, more calm than she would be if she suspected Marshall to be an impostor, Louisa assured herself.
"I understand how you must feel, Aunt Emma," she said calmly. "I understand your regrets. I know how much you disapproved of me in the past, and I'm grateful for your acceptance now. But I have no reason not to trust Marshall's judgment. In fact, if I can't trust him, I can trust no one. He saved my life by loving me. I'll do whatever I can for him; I'll do whatever is asked of me for his sake." And Louisa prayed Emma did not know what she did for Marshall's sake was at the request of a man who only resembled him. She hoped it would be a long while before Emma learned what it was she had sacrificed by ignorance.
Chapter Fifty-seven
THEIR conversation was interrupted by a dutiful servant bringing tea, and soon Alex joined them, presenting Emma with a letter from Simon. Her face reflected annoyance as she perused the envelope, and then placed the unopened letter into her basket of yarn.
Alex had a more welcome parcel for Louisa. Some of the paints and yards of artist's canvas she'd ordered had arrived, and her response was joyful and animated, greatly contrasting Emma's subdued, dismissive response to the mail. Louisa quickly opened the packages, fingered the brushes carefully, and inspected the canvas. "Samuel can make a palette and easel in no time," she announced, wanting to rush off to find him and make her request. She knew he would welcome the chance to please her. She'd done several pencil sketches of him which had pleased him enormously, and, except for one with which she refused to part, she'd given them to him, a simple gesture that somehow stepped briefly over the confining boundaries of position and race. Samuel and she laughed at her mistakes, and wondered how it was she had seen, not to mention captured his expressions, when most would have said he was a mountain of unflinching stoicism, a man whose opinions, as well as his emotions, were unfathomable―that is, of course, if he were capable of any but simple brutish concepts.
"I promise not to be too greedy with these," Louisa offered to Alex. "I said I'd share, and I shall." Alex Fielder was an artist, too, one more advanced than she, and with a keener eye for landscape. They'd made a few excursions together, and he'd proved a pleasant companion as well as an able teacher. "Now we'll see who has the best eye for color," Louisa challenged, "that is, if William will indulge me and allow you a few hours away from your multitude of duties."
"He does like to keep me busy."
To bolster his own sense of importance, Louisa thought to herself, a slight pout appearing on her pretty face.
"For your sake, though, I'm sure he'll be lenient with me."
"And I'll make sure he knows how badly I need an outing with you to escort me," she added. Alex then handed her another piece of mail. It was a letter from Carmen, written for her, as usual, by Luther Dobson. Louisa recognized his handwriting, and whenever she saw it her heart lurched with a mixture of joy and alarm. Momentarily she regretted her decision to remain with Aaron, but knew even in this fleeting instant of remorse that she could not leave him. She hastily opened the letter and greedily read every word, hearing Carmen's voice as she did so. Luther carefully preserved Carmen's dialect on paper, much to Louisa's joy and comfort. It made the distance between the correspondents less, and Carmen's words of reassurance about Rachel's good health and perfection touched Louisa as if she were actually there to observe their truthfulness.
"Here you are, Grandmother," Louisa said gently, offering Carmen's letter to Emma, "words of comfort from home. And while you read it, I'll go upstairs and get something I've been saving for you." Louisa excused herself to search in her room among a stack of drawings for the sketch she'd made of Rachel, the one she'd saved for Emma, because the likeness had been too perfect, too difficult for the young mother who was more painfully tom between love for her baby and her growing love for Aaron than she cared to admit.
Emma was delighted with the sketch, and pleased by the loving letter from Rachel's guardian. "I still find it shocking that Marshall insisted you leave the baby behind. It seems so unlike him. As I recall, when he was a youngster, he would mourn over the separation of pups from the bitch. I can't imagine him deserting his own child―you don't think he was jealous of the attention you gave her, do you?"
"Oh, no, Aunt Emma. Not your son. It never occurred to me he might be envious. He was with me when she was born, and has always been touchingly loving, even at his most awkward moments." She smiled to think of Aaron and Rachel; how he had cried with her at the exhilarating moment of birth, how occasionally he had held them both in his arms protectively while she nursed the infant in their bed; how wonderful the contrast was between the tiny bundle of life and the secretly sensitive man who held her with awe in his powerful hands. And it was with some awe that Louisa realized how easily she had accepted Aaron as a substitute for Rachel's natural father in that same bed; how she had so readily taken him into her heart, as well. "I can't explain it, but it wasn't jealousy that urged him to leave her at home."
"Men can be funny that way, sometimes. And in spite of what you say, it annoys me terribly that she was left behind."
Louisa was disturbed by the woman's growing irritation on the subject, and decided not to defend herself or Aaron's actions any further. She finished her tea and politely excused herself from the room. "I've got a fitting in town for a new dress. Samuel is probably waiting for me now. Would you care to come along?"
"No, thank you, dear. I'll wait for Marshall and we'll have that long-overdue chat I've promised my
self. And I probably ought to write Simon," she sighed. "I've not done so since I arrived. Go along without me. You'll be home in time for dinner?"
"I'll be back in plenty of time, I'm only going for a fitting. I don't plan to do any other errands―unless there's something you want?"
"No. Nothing. I'll be making a list for Anna before we go on our way. She can search for whatever I need some other time." Emma reached for Louisa's extended hand, and kissed her on the cheek in a gesture of farewell.
Wearing only a light cape in the late-morning sun, Louisa was glad to be out of the house. Samuel drove the open buggy quickly, but surely, down the hills and into town. "Isn't that Marshall's horse?" she inquired as they passed Swenson's dry goods store.
"Sure is."
"Then let's stop. I'd like to speak with him a moment." Samuel turned the buggy, and Louisa entered the tidy but bursting store, greeted pleasantly by Mr. Swenson. "I saw my husband's horse outside and thought he might be here," she said, surprised to find no one but a few other women looking among the shelves and barrels.
"Yes. He was here, Mrs. Hudson. Just left a few minutes ago with Mrs. Hill, helping her with some awkward bundles."
"I see. Thank you, Mr. Swenson." Louisa was disappointed, hoping to warn Aaron of Emma's wish to have a long talk with him. "If you should see him when he returns, please tell him I'm at the dressmaker's."
"I surely will, Mrs. Hudson," he smiled cheerfully. "Did you get your paints?"
"Oh, yes. Thank you. I didn't expect them so soon. In fact, I'm going to use them today, if time doesn't get away from me." Louisa hoped the session at the seamstress's would go quickly. She was in no mood to stand still for too long, feeling eager to get out and find a place to paint or perhaps ride, feeling a bit jittery without knowing why. She'd be glad when Emma was safely on her way south. It was Emma who was making her uneasy, she thought, whether from Louisa's past associations or from any sense that Marshall's mother was uncomfortable with her "son," she couldn't say. All she knew was, she'd breathe more freely when she and Aaron were alone again.
The fitting went badly. The dress didn't fit as it should have. The bodice was too tight, the waistline more snug than was comfortable. Mrs. Stevens was embarrassed, and at a loss to explain to this most coveted of clients how the errors had been made. And Louisa found herself uncharacteristically cross over such a simple matter. Normally she'd have been goodnatured about so minor a problem, for the alterations were easy to make. But instead she found herself reflecting like a common scold on the ineptitude of people on this coast. Then, noting how nervous Mrs. Stevens was, Louisa realized she was frowning. "I'm sorry, I know the dress can be easily adjusted, as you say. I've been very pleased with your work in the past. I've no cause to be so cross. Perhaps I'm overreacting. I'll simply have to be less indulgent." Louisa pulled her own dress on again, noticing for the first time how snug it felt. She took a long look at herself in the dressmaker's full-length mirror. Her breasts strained heavily against the dress's fabric and her belt seemed tighter than usual. "I think it less your fault than mine," she said pensively to Mrs. Stevens. "When shall I come back? Saturday morning, at the same hour, perhaps?"
"Yes, that would be fine," Mrs. Stevens replied, very relieved at Louisa's willing admission that her work was not at fault. She knew many women who would have never acknowledged such a possibility. Then Louisa browsed over some yardage and laces just received, selecting several yards of linen and lace for new petticoats, and a bolt of brown-and-blue plaid wool for a beautiful cape of simple design, both Mrs. Stevens and Louisa expecting the result to be dramatic against Louisa's coloring and figure.
When she entered the buggy again, Samuel noticed Louisa was not pleased, but said nothing, and they turned to the main street, seeing Aaron's horse tethered in the same place as before. Louisa thought little of it, but it didn't cheer her either, and they rode to the estate in uncharacteristic silence, Louisa's perfunctory thank you when they arrived at Crane's Nest the only words uttered on the journey. The front door, of course, was opened for her, but she was grateful no one interrupted her on her way upstairs. She had arrived just before the customary main meal of the day, finding she was neither hungry nor in any mood for the company of those who would be dining with her. Yet she didn't feel she wanted to make excuses and have her absence from the table fussed over. The least of all evils would be to appear, eat a little, and fake congeniality, so she rang for Loo Kim after deciding on a quick bath to refresh and perhaps lift her spirits. But when she was ready to join the others for dinner, she found her attempts to improve her mood had been in vain. She would have to be charming through sheer will, and to the faintly nagging worry she harbored about Marshall's mother, she added the suspicion she was pregnant. The signs she had ignored the first time from simple ignorance were not easy to dismiss now she knew what they were. In her bath she'd confirmed the increased fullness of her breasts, her thickened waist, the sudden hardness of her already firm belly. They were implications she wished she could ignore and, perhaps, she could have for a while longer than she did, but Mrs. Stevens would not allow it, it seemed. In a few days she would know for sure. In the meanwhile Louisa would lie in limbo, uncertain how the truth, whatever it would be, would make her feel.
Chapter Fifty-eight
THEY were seated and the meal started when Aaron arrived. He was in a very jovial mood, kissing Louisa gently on the cheek before seating himself next to her. He then apologized briefly for his tardiness. "I've arranged for you to sail next week on the Isabella, Mother. She's a pleasant vessel, though small, but I think you'll be comfortable. Yet, you could wait a few weeks for better accommodations, if you wish."
"Oh, Marshall, she's a lovely little ship. We've sailed on her. Don't you remember? The accommodations are very adequate," Louisa said, turning to Emma, hoping Aaron's disclaimer would not discourage Emma's quick departure from Monterey.
"I'm sure she'll suit me just fine. As you know, I'm in a hurry," Emma smiled.
Louisa relaxed a little, turning again to Aaron. "You must see the things your mother has for the baby before she packs them away, Marshall."
"And you must promise me a little of your time, son. Louisa's going out this afternoon, and I intend to monopolize your attention. Do you think you could spare me an hour or so?"
"Of course, Mother," Aaron replied with natural ease.
"By the way, Marshall, you haven't met Alex Fielder," interrupted Easton. "He arrived with your mother, and has assumed responsibilities as my secretary, freeing Louisa to do as she pleases. And it seems he's an able artist, as well. He'll be escorting Louisa this afternoon. I can't refuse her request for his attention. They've convinced me the correspondence will keep, but the paints will not."
Aaron and Alex Fielder exchanged greetings, Aaron taking notice of the man for the first time. Though seated, it was apparent Alex was about the same height as Aaron, perhaps a little shorter. He was slender and well built, of medium complexion, with dark blond hair and light topaz-colored eyes which gave him a magnetic sort of appearance, and Aaron suspected Louisa enjoyed the man's looks as much as she did their common interest. Aaron and Alex spoke congenially of their mutual experiences in Europe, and of some of the same haunts they had known on holidays, remarking it was odd they'd not run into each other since they'd seemingly been in some of the same places at the same times. And both Aaron and Louisa breathed easier when the meal was concluded pleasantly.
Louisa hastened to their room to ready herself for a few hours of painting. "You don't mind?" she asked of Aaron. "There's nothing I Can do to save you from the interview with Emma. And I've the feeling it's not going to be an easy one. She's really been harping on our leaving Rachel behind, telling" me how softhearted Marshall was as a child when the pups were separated from their mother. Remember? Well, we all thought it a trifle sad, as I recall, but Emma seems to want to make something of it. I think she's uneasy, but I can't imagine why. How I wish she'd not come!" Louisa f
retted.
Aaron frowned. "I'll just have to get through" it as best I can. I won't allow her to pin me down. Marshall had a way of being evasive with Emma when it suited him. She didn't know all our mischief. We managed to conceal whatever we wanted."
Louisa smiled. "I guess we did at that. Little did we know what we were training for! Good luck, my love." She kissed him sweetly, then gathered up her artist's materials. "Come after us, why don't you? As soon as you can get away. We won't be able to do much painting, we've got too late a start, and the light won't last long. Promise you'll try?"
"I promise," he said, taking a long kiss from her warm mouth, touching her full breasts with eager hands. "You've added a little roundness while I was away. Very nice," he whispered, then kissed her, pulling her close, moving his body suggestively against hers.
"We'll discuss it later," she said abruptly, slipping with some effort from out of his arms. "Alex is waiting."
When he was alone, Aaron sized himself up in the mirror, convinced there was nothing about his physical appearance to make Emma Hudson suspicious. With the addition of the beard, there was even less chance she'd identify him. Though it had been a good many years since he and Marshall had been inseparable companions, Aaron had carefully recalled all he could of the nuances of Marshall's interaction with his mother. Unlike Louisa's childhood contact with Marshall, Aaron's had been daily. They had lived like brothers though there had never been acknowledgment of the fact, and while it was always clear to others who the young master of the house was, the boys were unconcerned with social rank and each seemed to be the other's shadow.
Aaron stared sharply at himself in the glass. In a few minutes he would speak to Marshall's mother as if she were his own, and greet Anna Sutton, his own mother, with fond but casual regard. Forced to contemplate feelings he had readily buried long ago, he felt suddenly strange and sad. Shame and sorrow came over him, and then very quickly that pain was replaced by the deep, self-sustaining bitterness that fueled him in this enterprise. It was his apprenticeship at Simon's direction that had forced him from home, and from the simple woman who had originally nurtured and loved him. Circumstances beyond his power had driven him away, eventually making the chance of his ever being welcomed home improbable. Surely Anna would not wish to acknowledge an outlaw for a son. Her own sins had weighed heavily on her soul, something he as a young child had sensed and learned gradually. Aaron never intended to burden her further with his own offenses. Today, after all these years, he would face his mother and then turn his back on her again, as if he had no memories to cherish.
Ford, Jessie Page 29
