"She's down by the corn," Rosa said, pointing in the direction of a path that led from the small cluster of thatched and adobe huts. "She's not far. She's not real strong."
Aaron started out immediately on foot, firmly insisting he would go alone. "I insist," he said flatly to Father Hidalgo, and he turned and strode hurriedly in the direction Rosa pointed. The path wound gently, finally bringing him to a slight rise of land from which he could see a woman in the distance. He knew from the figure's impression on his senses, it had to be Louisa.
For a moment as he stood watching her, he asked himself how she could affect him the way she did? Why didn't he forget her? Why was he obsessed by this woman? "For God's sake, she's only one woman!" he cursed aloud. She was made like countless others, he reminded himself ... not very unique . . . but not very like anyone he'd ever known. There were other beautiful women, but she seemed to please him especially. Others were sensuous, others had aroused and gratified him . . . yet not quite the way Louisa had. She seemed to possess some elusive power he couldn't even name. Whatever it was, it made her irresistible, and he wanted to despise her for it. She made him feel weak. She had a frightening kind of power over him, and he did not conceive of himself as a man who was weak or easily frightened.
How was it possible this slender beautiful creature who, if he chose, he could kill with one blow―how could she exert control over him to the extent she' did? She was like a demon in his soul, a fever in his blood; and he wondered if there were enough hours in an ordinary man's lifetime to make him forget her.
As he stood there, Louisa did not see him, for her back was still turned as she continued to walk. When she stopped, she was reassured by the distance she had come from the campground, knowing her strength was at last returning. In the few weeks she had been among these simple people, in spite of their superstitions about her being unclean, she had felt more protected, more an object of sincere concern than she could recall in a very long time. She was grateful for their caring shelter, aware that she owed her life to them, especially to Rosa, knowing she could never repay their kindness. They gave of themselves when they had, by most men's standards, nothing to give.
Louisa walked to the edge of the small cornfield, taking refuge nearby in the shade of a sparse stand of trees that spread their thin arms along the edge of a shallow stream. She seated herself on a large rock, and leaned against one slim sapling, closing her eyes for a few minutes in the midday heat. When she opened her eyes, she could see the figure of a man approaching her. Something in her stirred, a pulsing that made her tense and breathless. She knew who he was even before she could see him distinctly, the movement of his body familiar to her, imprinted on her, probably forever.
Louisa tried to collect herself, forcing tranquility from some reserve she was amazed to find she had. And by the time he stood before her, she was able to greet him coolly, yet wanting to fling herself into his arms, to feel the insistent pressure of his body, the wonderful comfort of him, to cry wildly of her loss and pain.
Instead, Louisa withheld herself, offering him her hands when he reached out for her, her body rigid, giving no consent, no sign of longing in her impassive, even unfriendly face.
Responding to her remoteness, Aaron was just as distant. If she had even smiled at him, he might have abandoned his resolve to keep away from her. She looked pale, though not frail, and he was grateful, seeing no apparent strain in her beautiful face. She's made of steel, he thought, nothing will ever bring her down. But he remembered Father Hidalgo's words, his promise that it was only "one of God's miracles" that Louisa was alive. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice sounding casual to Louisa's ears. "If I could change what has happened, I would."
He paused to look at her, hoping for something more than the incredibly aloof response she gave him. "The men who hurt you are dead." She only nodded at him, afraid to speak for fear she would give herself away. "Why didn't you send for me immediately? You didn't have to stay with these miserably poor people. You should've had a doctor. You almost died, you know."
Louisa pulled her hands from him as if he'd insulted her. "No one could have done more for me than they did!" she said hotly. "And for no reason other than simple kindness. They expected nothing from me in return." He felt her luminous eyes dig into him.
"I'm not here to exchange bitter words, Louisa," he said calmly. "I'm very grateful to them for looking after you," he said, his voice seeming to take on the cold edge of authority Louisa remembered from their earliest association. And she responded as she had then, with defiance, retreating from his sympathetic words, hearing only their crisp tone.
"What have you come for?"
"I've come to see you safely to San Francisco, then home."
"Safely? I don't recall I'm particularly safe with you," she replied caustically.
Her words pierced him, stabbing into his gut. It was true, as he had reminded himself often, she was not safe with him, and probably she never would be. But he wanted to grab her, hold her, beg her to overlook that truth. He wanted to plead with her to forget his silences, the pain, even the insults he'd flung at her when he did speak. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but he saw in her flashing eyes, in her tense body, what he thought was the uselessness of speaking those words.
"In any event," he heard himself say firmly, "I've come to see you home. They're waiting for you in San Diego."
His reminder startled her, and left a look of sadness in her eyes. "It will be good to get home, at last," she sighed quietly, moving away from him hastily, leaving him to stare after her as she abruptly began the walk back to the small shelters in the Indian camp.
Chapter Eighty-one
WITH a few long strides, Aaron caught up with Louisa on the path back to the campground. When he reached her she seemed terribly pale beneath her suntanned skin, and within moments he carried her in his arms. "The sun is too hot," she said before she collapsed, her legs no longer able to support her.
Her weakness frightened Aaron, and he hurried back to the campground feeling helpless and distraught. Rosa rushed to them the moment they were visible, and led Aaron to Louisa's hut. He placed her gently on her straw bed, and Rosa quickly sponged Louisa's face and throat with cool water. Louisa revived, but remained resting in her bed of straw, not feeling strong enough to stand, or even sit. She looked silently and hard at Aaron, seeing sternness in the lines of his face, but in reality it was worry and sadness that marked him.
Rosa was more astute, and as soon as it was apparent Louisa was all right, she slipped quietly from the tiny house. "You're not as strong as you thought," Aaron remarked, kneeling close to her on the dirt floor.
"It's an especially hot day. I'm sure that's all," Louisa said more weakly than she intended. "I'm ready to go, but I need clothes. Perhaps Father Hidalgo can help you get me something more suitable than this," she said, indicating the faded dress she wore. It was too large for her, hanging on her slim frame, the thin fabric concealing little of the outlines of her curves, even with a ragged petticoat to offer its concealment. And Aaron was not above feasting his eyes on her, the bodice of the dress wet from her recent sponging. Louisa's always inviting breasts were now very prominent, her nipples poking at the fabric with infuriating firmness. She gave Aaron a scalding look, but it did nothing to relieve the swelling ache in his groin, something they were both acutely aware of. Less visible but just as pronounced was Louisa's surge of response, but she managed to conceal her feelings with ease.
"For all I know, my trunk is still in the carriage. But I don't have any idea where it would be. Perhaps it's been discovered. The priest might know," she offered.
"The priest knows more about what's happened than I do, Louisa." He hesitated. "But you can tell me all about it when you're stronger. I don't want to upset you."
"How kind," she sneered softly. "It's a subject that will wait, thank you." Her hostility was unmistakable, and she refused to apologize for words she, on second thought, felt were too sh
arp.
"You insisted on going. I begged you to stay," Aaron said hotly.
"Please. Not now. Please just make arrangements to get me home, however you suggest this time. I was a fool to travel with those men―but you sent me with them!"
"I sent you? Jesus, Louisa, I―" Aaron took a deep breath. "I see no point in discussing it now," he said coldly.
"I agree." Her eyes brimmed with tears she hated herself for. "You can go back with Father Hidalgo tonight and return whenever you can."
"Not on your life. I'm not leaving here without you. Whatever you need can be sent to us. And I'll determine when you're ready to travel, not you. Perhaps I'll have to leave you to arrange for a wagon or buggy, but otherwise you can count on my presence until I hand deliver you to Emma Hudson." There was no room for doubt that he meant just that. "This time I will make you a prisoner, if necessary."
"It won't be necessary. I've paid for my foolhardiness. My crimes have been punished severely."
"I know, and I'm sorry," he said gently, reaching to touch her, but she pulled away from him, tears spilling from her eyes. She covered her face and rolled as far away from him as possible, wanting him to pursue her and give her comfort, yet wanting to be alone.
Aaron looked stricken, but she didn't see. He reached out to her, then withdrew his hand before he touched her. He was bewildered, wanting to console her, but feeling she had every right to despise and shrink from him. "I'll go speak to your priest, and see what he suggests," he concluded slowly, leaving Louisa to her angry, broken-hearted tears.
"I don't know if she's well enough to travel," he confided to the priest. "But she's determined to go. I'll need a good buggy or wagon." He and Father Hidalgo sat in the shade and discussed the alternatives. The carriage Ben and Jack had abandoned had been discovered, but the trunk with Louisa's clothes and few belongings had not been with it. The carriage was at Ellison's ranch where Aaron could claim it and obtain a team of horses. Father Hidalgo gave him directions and Aaron expected to complete those arrangements the next day.
Father Hidalgo read Aaron's worry, and it was a great relief for him to see it. Until then, the priest had worried deeply about what he had interpreted as the man's cold nature. He feared for the safety of the frail young woman who had sent for this, perhaps, cruel husband. Yet he knew he was powerless to intervene in their final arrangements. He had no authority, nor was there any law to protect this woman from her husband. "Thank you for your help," Aaron said warmly then they finished their conversation, and the priest left the camp in much better spirits than when he'd arrived.
Aaron looked after his horse, then looked in on Louisa. He pulled aside the blanket door, and when his eyes grew accustomed to the dark interior, he quickly saw she was asleep. While he had talked with Father Hidalgo, Rosa had doubled the size of the straw bed. Aaron smiled, anticipating Louisa's less than friendly reaction if he should accept this as an open invitation to join her. Everyone assumed he had more rights than he did, and it amused him perversely to know he would be expected to share this shelter with her tonight.
Aaron found the thick-walled, tree-shaded little room surprisingly cool. Yes, it would please him to spend the night next to her, but more so if she would yield her body to him, if he could know her as he had in the past. Would there ever be another time when he could hold her in his arms and vent his passion? It didn't seem very likely.
As if she had read his thoughts, Louisa turned to face him drowsily. When she opened her eyes, she looked relaxed, and even gave him a faint smile. "What have you arranged?" she asked, sitting up and stretching, beginning to pick straw from her golden hair, still plaited in one thick braid.
He sat down beside her. "You seem to have had a good rest, but are you sure you're ready to travel?" He looked at her, trying to make some sort of responsible judgment.
"Believe me, I wouldn't have sent for you if I hadn't thought so!"
"That's clear enough! Tell me, Louisa, are we going to wage war from now on? Or can we call a truce?"
"I'm agreeable to a truce," she said simply. Aaron reached to pull a few pieces of straw she'd missed from her hair, and she recoiled. "Only there will be no resumption of what you believed to be your former rights under our 'truce.' "
"What about the increased size of your bed?"
"I'm not responsible for Rosa's assumptions."
"I take it you expect me to bed down with the horses."
"No, I don't expect that. I merely want you to leave me alone―you know what I mean."
"I know well enough. I won't touch you. I've no plans to force myself on you." He said it calmly, and she relaxed visibly, tension seeming to drain from her body.
"I'm surprised my word is good enough for you!" He didn't seem able to resist being sarcastic.
"Isn't it?" she bristled.
"Yes. Of course," he snapped, regretting his thoughtless retort. He reached for her hands, insisting she give them into his. "A full truce, señora, is granted with all your rights protected," he promised, then smiled gently, releasing her from his grip. "Tell me, Louisa, what happened? Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant? Why did you lie to me? If I'd known, I'd never have let you go.
"That's as good a reason as any," she said quietly. "But it's not the only reason. You know the reasons as well as I do. It would serve no purpose to go through it all. Not now." She took a deep breath. "And as for what happened, I don't think you could ever understand how horrible it was. Perhaps you have to be a woman to know what it means to be raped. Perhaps not. I couldn't, if I sat here the rest of my life, tell you in words how horrible it was. I can only swear to you I don't ever want another man to touch me. Never. I have had enough of men to last me several lifetimes." Louisa was very calm. She spoke as if giving solemn testimony before a court, and at the moment she uttered her preference for a lifetime of abstinence, she truly meant it.
There was enough resolve in her voice and in her face to make Aaron certain it would take an act of God to persuade her from her oath. And if a mere mortal were capable of changing her mind, it would, he thought, certainly take more of a man than he was, for, it seemed to Aaron, she equated him with the men in her life who had abused her.
Yet, after she'd said what was on her mind the climate in the little room was more comfortable, if only temporarily. And slowly, as if in a confessional, Louisa reached out to Aaron with words, telling him what she could remember, which, regrettably, was just about everything. She was restless and distraught as she related her story, sometimes self-consciously trying to wrap her loose gown around her body as if to conceal her shame, to protect herself from a too clear memory of the violation of her body. She undid her braided hair absently, seeming to use its long flowing strands to shield herself a little. Yet she knew there was no point in hiding, finding that as she began to face her pain, she began also to slowly purge herself of its agony.
She told him of the long, tortured, specter-filled night, of her terror in the smoke―and accusation―filled morning. But she did not voice her grief over her prematurely empty womb, for she knew to speak of it at all would force her to look Aaron in the eye and say aloud she'd loved him, and that it mattered that she'd lost his baby. Neither could she face the fact she might love him even now.
Whenever Louisa cried, Aaron held her fast in his· arms, not with longing, but in disbelief and sorrow. He clutched her fiercely to his body, yet she never saw his tears as they slid silently out of his eyes, falling unnoticed as he put his face against the thick fragrant mass of her now unbraided hair. And though they were in some ways very intimate, they failed to shatter the silence which really separated them, building yet another bridge between them that might never be crossed.
Chapter Eighty-two
FINALLY Louisa had nothing more to say, and retreated from Aaron's arms self-consciously. She wiped away the last traces of her tears with her fingers, and smiled hesitantly at him. "I'm exhausted again," she said meekly.
"Then rest. It's
still very hot. You should stay in till evening when it's cooler anyway." Aaron gave her a cup of water from a clay jug on the floor next to her straw bed. Then she lay down, and he sat against the wall, watching her from time to time as she drifted off to sleep.
He'd underestimated her, remembering his speculation she'd never last any time at all in the wilderness away from the comforts she was used to. She'd survived a lot, more than he'd have laid bets on this time, and the elements were the least of what she'd overcome.
Aaron was weary too. He'd been on the trail for more than a week, leaving San Francisco in haste even before he'd recovered from the sleepless days and nights he'd searched for Ben and Jack. Emil Joseph had traveled with him out of San Francisco to the approximate area in which Jack had confessed to abandoning Louisa. Then they'd gone searching for her in separate directions, planning, between the two of them, to circle and canvass the entire area. Finding Louisa alive was beyond Aaron's expectations. He'd been afraid to hope, and hadn't begun to prepare for her reaction to him until he'd read the letter the priest handed him this morning. These last few hours of confrontation and worry had taken their toll on his emotions, and he felt numb, beginning again to deny his love for her, feeling only the torture of their association for himself, and for her as well. If there were ever star-crossed lovers, he and Louisa were a pair, he thought. Shouldn't defy the universe, he said to himself as he fell asleep propped against the wall across , from the woman he wanted to lie next to more than he wanted anything else in the world.
They were both still sleeping when Rosa entered the room. She carried a tallow candle in one hand, setting it on the low table. She also carried a pot of steaming food, and a basket with two small loaves of bread, and perhaps two handfuls of pine nuts. She considered the figures resting separately, wondering if they also had customs about bleeding women, though she knew Louisa was no longer "unclean" by Indian standards. She was afraid to wake the man, and didn't want to disturb Louisa, feeling the young woman wasn't as strong as she pretended. Rosa left the candle and the food and quietly disappeared into the evening.
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