''Sit down, both of you," she said, gesturing to chairs next to the bed. "You have a great deal yet to tell me. I must know it all, Andrew. All, not one word less." She took a deep breath, suppressing the tears threatening to spring from her eyes, reaching to hold one of each of their hands as they seated themselves before her. "My God, Andrew, I never dreamed you'd grow to be so perfect a likeness of my son. Your resemblance is breathtaking."
"That's just what I said when I collected my senses, Aunt Emma. You're a good deal more calm than I was at first," Louisa reassured her.
Emma Hudson took another deep breath. "Perhaps I should have some tea before I hear it all. I suddenly feel weaker than I have in years."
She rang for a servant, staring helplessly at Aaron in silence until her request was taken. Then she listened in horror to Aaron's suspicions about Peter Melville, to the story of Marshall's murder, to a very brief outline of the plans of the conspiracy, agreeing to go to San Diego as planned, to wait for Louisa to join her, to be patient, and to help them however possible.
"And to think, just the other day, Louisa, I cautioned you to be careful, to be certain what you risked was worth the sacrifice!" Now her tears would not be contained. Both Aaron and Louisa reached in one motion to touch her, hoping to lend her comfort, knowing in some primitive way they too were her children. When she was finished crying for the moment, she stared at them. Her look was kind yet hard, the look of someone who at last has confronted reality, and is not pleased. "And what of the other part of your charade? Are you the lovers you pretend to be? Or is that an act, too?"
The couple was silent. Louisa lowered her eyes from Emma's strong questioning gaze, but Aaron looked at her head-on. "That portion of the charade is no act. We share the same bed as husband and wife. What I told you the other day is true."
"Good," Emma sighed, and Louisa looked up in surprise. "If you'd said anything different, I would have doubted the truth of everything else you've said." She reached for Louisa's very cold hands. "I wonder if God will ever forgive me?" she said. "I wonder if you can forgive me, Louisa."
"Yes. I have forgiven you. Long ago. Now you must forgive yourself."
Emma nodded her head, and leaned to kiss Louisa's cheek. "Let me rest for a few hours. We'll have our dinner together here in this room. Make some excuse to Easton. I'd just as soon not see him ever again, at least not until the morning when I say my farewells."
"I'll arrange it," Aaron promised. "Keep this to yourself, Emma. Reveal nothing to anyone, not even to my mother."
"Poor Anna. To have her son within reach . . . she's never uttered your name since you jumped ship abroad, but I know she's never for an instant forgotten you. Andrew, you too have a lot to forgive me for. It's very easy to make Simon the guilty one, but he hasn't sinned alone, it seems."
"We'll save our conversation for later, Aunt Emma," he said, taking Louisa's hand again, ushering her from the room and into their own. Louisa threw herself on the bed, lying face down, covering her head with her arms, silent and feeling exhausted. When she raised her eyes she saw Aaron at the windows, staring silently into the noonday sun. "It was wishful thinking to believe she wouldn't know. You trust her, don't you, Aaron?"
"Almost as much as I trust you, Louisa. Her pain must be as great as yours," he said solemnly.
"Don't be so foolish as to believe that," she said quietly, rising to stand beside him when he turned to face her. "No one, not even his mother, loved him like I did."
"But her love has never changed, and, if I am to believe you, you love me now."
"I love you, Aaron, but I will always love Marshall. Love doesn't disappear when the grave is closed. Surely you realize that."
"I know very well," he replied, turning back to the windows. "But I'll never get used to a ghost standing over my bed."
Louisa stood behind him, slipping her arms around his waist, leaning against his back. "I have never made love to you thinking you were anyone but who you are. You've never been Marshall in my arms. I swear it."
Aaron stood very still, beginning to be aware of the pleasure of Louisa's body against his, and for now he didn't bother to confront her with the truth, instead turning to her to hold her tightly, hoping that in her loving embrace he would be relieved of the anxieties of the painful morning.
Chapter Sixty-three
AFTER bidding good-bye to Emma at the Monterey waterfront, Aaron and Louisa returned to Crane's Nest, riding into the hills as they had that first evening. But this time they did not ride in silence, nor did they feel the same apprehension as on the night of their arrival. The black man who drove the team of bays this morning was their confidant; the rich and varied landscape now seemed comfortingly familiar, and the errand they'd just completed lifted a burden from them, even if it did not lift their spirits. Emma Hudson politely said her farewells to William Easton, Franklin Carson, and Alex Fielder as if she knew nothing more of the intrigue this morning than she did when she first arrived. She seemed only the pleasant, gracious wife of Simon Hudson, very removed in her interest in their politics. No one but Aaron and Louisa knew the extent of her knowledge, and even her farewells to them had been full of restraint, with no questions or last-minute doubts. Her questions had been answered the night before, forthrightly and sometimes coldbloodedly by Aaron, and she trusted the truthfulness of the man she intuitively had known was not her son. She alone continued to believe Marshall's ideals would have been unwavering, even in the circumstances, but she acknowledged she had no proof, only a mother's confidence.
On that last night with Emma, Louisa had learned much about Aaron, realizing then how much she had accepted on faith while desperately trying to deal with the difficult present. But Emma had no night terrors to shut doors on, and she pointedly asked for answers to questions to bring herself up to date on the child she had too readily forgotten when he went out of her home and off to sea. Aaron told them about his life, touching truthfully but briefly on the external facts, but revealing little of what actually made up the man, leaving Louisa to speculate on the shading of his words, adding meaning to this history when she recalled other very familiar, less articulate, sounds of his voice.
With Emma on her way to San Diego, Aaron again became deeply embroiled in plots and plans hatched over conference tables and, now, even at late-night suppers with select and knowledgeable guests. He was watchful, alert to all possible outlets for information, and careful to keep Marguerite happy. He was discreet, but he found the lady was less inclined to secrecy. When the Hills dined at Crane's Nest Marguerite was bold and something less than diffident. She sought Aaron's attention openly, and only Colonel Hill appeared to be oblivious. Louisa found herself wide-eyed, and Easton watched with great and open interest.
Marguerite flirted with no apparent regard for propriety, though in public Aaron was guarded. "What do you suggest I do, Louisa?" he shouted at her late one night when she railed at him, her jealousy obvious in face of Marguerite's flagrant behavior. "Potentially, she can provide us with invaluable information. She lies in more beds than her own, and I suspect she could pry information from a sphinx if she set her mind to it."
"Is she prying anything from your lips, Aaron?" Louisa flashed, pulling her dress over her head in preparation for bed, but she received no reply as she struggled with buttons that became tangled in her hair. When she extracted herself, she stood staring at him silently, watching him undress with his back to her. She folded her dress in her arms, watching as his muscles rippled under the smooth dark skin of his back and arms, longing for him, eager to touch and caress his lithe body. But when Marguerite's face came to mind, Louisa bristled and pursued her inquiry. "What 'state secrets' has Mrs. Hill shared with you?"
Aaron was tired from several long days and nights, and his temper was strained. At Louisa's question, he froze for an instant, the tension of his body apparent. Then he whirled on her with uncharacteristic venom, surprising them both, and betraying his weariness. "What is it you want to kno
w?" he demanded, his voice brimming with suppressed violence, his shining eyes coal-black in the dim light. For several minutes they stood motionless, and he stared at her waiting for a reply. When it was obvious she had none, he turned away from her and they did not speak to each other again, finishing their preparations for bed as if the other was not present. Yet each was very aware of the other, and alternately angry and sorry for the way the day was coming to a close, but neither was willing to make the first move to alter the climate in the room. Louisa took an unusually long time with her hair, unpinning the coils, brushing the gold threads to an unsurpassed luster, while Aaron watched from the bed, turning away from her when she at last extinguished the lamp.
Though they were both exhausted, they lay sleepless in the darkness. Finally Aaron reached to touch her. At first she pulled away, but instantly she felt the uselessness of her gesture, knowing she had no real wish to deny herself the pleasure of his embrace. Within moments their angry exchange over the colonel's wife was forgotten. But in the remaining weeks of their stay at Crane's Nest Marguerite's name often came between them, and, at times, it was debatable whether ghosts or the living wielded a stronger influence in determining the outcome of the affairs at hand.
They were often entertained at the Hills' and in other splendid homes in Monterey. The atmosphere was intimate and friendly, though Colonel Hill and his wife were not yet formally drawn into the conspirators' circle. His allegiance to the federal government was "a matter of honor," he declared. But, he vowed, if war came, he would resign his commission to support the Southern cause. Therefore Colonel Hill was only courted, not yet invited into camp. However, it was hoped he might still be useful.
For most, the colonel's loyalty was above reproach, but open-eyed observers suspected Marguerite's fidelity to her husband, and those who watched closely wondered about Marshall Hudson, as well. Their exchanges were more friendly than necessary, thought Louisa, and whenever they danced together they seemed to enjoy each other's embrace a little too much, or so it appeared to her.
Other doubts began to cloud Louisa's emotions. Was Aaron less interested in her own attentions lately, or was her imagination running away from her? When he did make love to her he was never careless, never thoughtless, always full of passion, his hunger for her undiminished, but he seemed to have less and less time for her. Of course, Peter Melville had returned to the estate, and the days were long and exhausting. Aaron did not explain the details to her, yet Louisa knew there was discord and some sort of difficulty from the number of couriers who rode onto the property, lingering only long enough to eat and sometimes sleep, then to carry messages bound for destinations unknown to her.
Eventually Louisa could not contain her suspicions. She found she could not deny the look she saw in Marguerite's eyes whenever Aaron was in her company. To Louisa it was the unmistakable look of a woman who enjoyed more of the man than his embrace on the dance floor. But for now Louisa did not confront Aaron. She simply withdrew a little from him, and nursed her pain. She attended to the odd intermittent physical discomfort she had begun to live with, and she accepted the reality of her pregnancy with regret and apprehension.
Louisa bled irregularly, and though the amount was insignificant, it was abnormal. She might have overlooked this aspect of her pregnancy, for she knew it was not unheard of, but the infrequent but intense stabs of pain could not be ignored, even by a woman who, in times past, had often chosen to retreat to other levels of reality. Her discomfort was more acute because she faced it alone, and because it was mingled with other, less identifiable pain.
In indecision and growing doubt about Aaron's affection, Louisa drew gradually and hesitantly close to Alex Fielder. Aaron was forever tied up with his political colleagues, but Alex found time to schedule occasional outings with her. She had finally prevailed upon Samuel to build palettes and easels; paints and canvas arrived as ordered, and seemingly there was nothing to prevent their self-indulgent excursions into the countryside. From Easton's study, Aaron often caught glimpses of them when they drove down the path in William's carriage. Sometimes he would see them off on horseback, their charcoal or pastels and paper carefully tucked into saddlebags. Aaron thought Louisa seemed more cheerful, even radiant, after these outings with Fielder, and he was correct, for she was cheered by the open air and scenery, and by the companionship of a warm, literate, and compassionate man who sensed she was lonely and silently suspected her husband, just as she did.
Louisa was attracted to Alex for reasons she didn't care to explore with herself too deeply. He had a gentleness about him reminiscent of Marshall, and in contrast to Aaron. She knew Alex admired her, and suspected she might easily trespass on his loneliness with his willful cooperation, but Louisa knew he would not demand anything from her. He would be satisfied with the pleasure of shared friendship.
But Aaron soon began to wonder whether Louisa and Alex were not drawn together by more than artistic talent. Aaron had seen Alex, look at Louisa with open admiration. Who didn't, he reminded himself, when he chose to be rational. But Alex was the sort of man he feared as a competitor for Louisa's lasting affection. He was all the things Aaron was not: a man of education, breeding, wealth, and social position. In addition he was physically the kind of man who might compete with him in satisfying Louisa's other undeniable, perhaps unquenchable, needs. He'd watched them dance together occasionally, seeming to fit together like interlocking pieces of a puzzle, their common fairness making them seem like shafts of wheat undulating together in a prairie wind. These two were much less of a contrast than he and Louisa were. In many respects Alex and Louisa seemed like kindred spirits, far less strident, more melodious than he and Louisa would ever be.
They were like two smooth stones from the waveswept beach, pleasing to the senses, matched in so many respects, and he began telling himself, for reasons of his own, that Louisa would betray him, confirming his doubts at every turn. So when, as he descended the stairs one morning, he saw Louisa embrace Alex with considerable strength and passion, he felt the muscles of his body tighten, but he was not unprepared. What he did not see, what he did not hear was the man's tears, nor did he know that Louisa only reached out instinctively to Alex to comfort him in his grief. And, unfortunately, for some reason in the now chaotic pace of the household, Aaron never heard the news about the death of Alex's infant son, nor did he learn the news struck nearly as intense a blow to Louisa. It was as if the message which arrived that morning had been for her. It was news that promptly summoned all of her carefully suppressed feelings―those guilty feelings she had put in their shallow grave to make her temporary abandonment of Rachel something she could live with.
Momentarily frozen in his descent of the stairs, Aaron watched Louisa hold another man fiercely in her arms, watched her give comfort, saw her press her wonderful body close against this other man, saw her whisper against him and stroke his back with her exciting hands, his own memory of the magic of her caress very fresh in his mind. He paused on the stairs for mere seconds, but the impression he received was indelible and just the evidence he seemed to need.
Chapter Sixty-four
LOUISA hoped the shearing pain that edged along her ribs and seemed to constrict her lungs was not visible, especially to the woman who sat glowing and confident before her. Aaron and Colonel Hill conversed energetically by the windows and it appeared they and other guests had no hint of her misery. The afternoon kept everyone else comfortably occupied and amused. The wines and liquor, the delicacies from Easton's kitchen were in plentiful supply, and the house and garden patios were thronging with amused and cheerful guests.
Louisa tried to ignore her unhappiness, tried desperately to be entertained by Marguerite's conversation. Why did the woman single her out, Louisa wondered. She would have preferred to be ignored, or at least politely overlooked. But it was not the way it was, just as there was no longer any way for Louisa to ignore Aaron and Marguerite's affair. Even Easton knew, she was certain, otherwi
se he would never have been so bold as to touch her the way he had.
He had discovered her reading in his study late one night, trying to find sleep between pages of a book when it would not come naturally in her half-empty bed. Aaron and Melville had dined with Colonel Hill that night and had not yet returned to Crane's Nest. Aaron was often, though explainably, late to return, and his absences from the estate were now more frequent. The times that disturbed her were the times he came in alone, though in the course of meeting his new responsibilities, she simply lost track of his agenda. She told herself she had no reason to suspect him, but she knew it was a lie. Hadn't he told her he expected her to use her body if it were to their advantage in this intrigue? She had no doubt about his stance as it applied to her, and no reason to think he would be more circumspect about his own behavior.
Easton had brought her a glass of sherry, then joined her on the leather couch, seeming relaxed and intently concerned about her comfort. They'd talked for perhaps half an hour, Louisa sharing with him her first effusive letter from Emma. They'd laughed at grandmothers in general and he spoke kindly and with apparent understanding of her loneliness for her child. They had remained in Monterey far longer than she had expected, she said. "Perhaps I should go home," she sighed wistfully. "If I were to leave tonight, Marshall's so occupied with his affairs it would be days before he'd even notice my absence."
"You're mistaken, Louisa," William had offered, taking her hand in his, quickly moving closer to her, reaching into the deep V of her robe, touching her breast through her night dress, his hand swiftly descending down her belly. She shuddered and recoiled, hoping surprise rather than her revulsion came through as she shrank from his touch. She wanted to scream at him, but maintained a presence of mind well beyond what she would have thought possible had anyone suggested Easton would approach her in such a fashion.
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