Ford, Jessie

  Wherever the beautiful Louisa Boyd traveled, across the blue, ice cold eastern seas or the gold, sun fired western mountains, she could never truly leave the passions and madness born in the mists of her home―the Louisiana bayous.

  Nor could she leave its young men who knew only the laws of desire and conquest―men who, in a French vineyard, defended her innocence, and in an American desert, saved her life... and the new-born life of a child destined to be Louisa's triumphant gift of love to a brave man and a great continent.

  Love, Remember Me

  Jessie Ford

  MEMORIES OF LOVE, TEARS OF SADNESS

  Louisa opened her eyes and looked at him tenderly. Oh God, you look so familiar, yet I don't know you, she thought as he stared into her eyes, filling himself with their blueness.

  Like the sky on a cloudless day, he reflected silently, wondering if her eyes promised the same freedom and joy he felt when he looked up into such a sky.

  Before either of them realized it consciously, he began to caress her cheek, kissing her mouth to find her yielding softly to him.

  Then he kissed her deeply, gathering her urgently into his arms, his desire for her obvious and unrelenting. And Louisa met his warm mouth as if she were coming in from the cold, unable to deny the warmth that surged in her body or her desire to respond to him for, though nothing else was certain, she knew their coming together was inevitable.

  Copyright © 1980 by Jessie Ford All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by

  Ballantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New

  York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada, Limited, Toronto, Canada. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 79-91714

  ISBN 0-345-28533-6

  Manufactured in the United States of America First Edition: March 1980

  Chapter One

  LOUISA Boyd Hudson had not yet grown used to this desolate coastline. San Diego, the southernmost town in California, was very different from the tropical Louisiana parish she had come from, and she wondered if she would ever get used to the drab vegetation scattered randomly over the thin soil ledges above the beach. But Louisa had readily grown used to the area's drier climate, to the seemingly endless spring, to the seasons of early fog.

  She had spent the past four months in this unfamiliar place collecting her sanity and strength, preparing for childbirth, growing fond of the comfortable house that had been built for her use within the Hudson Compound, which lay at the ocean's edge, some distance from the small cluster of dwellings at the town's center. She filled it with her possessions, many of them gifts from Marshall, and she planned for the arrival of their baby, settling herself slowly and peacefully into the house. She had come to accept her situation and attempted to put the incidents of the past behind her, knowing she had courage enough to live beyond the past and, she believed, love enough to build herself and her child a future. She reasoned anyone who had traveled as far and as hard as she, had many more and better roads to see. In fact, she promised herself nothing less.

  During these four months, Louisa felt she'd walked enough miles along the beach to equal the physical distance separating her from the man she was trying desperately to forget. Though she hated the early morning more than any other time of day, she would often wake even before the gulls descended on the beach. Then, in her drowsiness, in the softness of her bed and the stillness of the hour, she would lie beneath the covers to feel the warmth of her blood course through her veins, and ache with longing for Marshall's touch, and the fulfillment his love had given her.

  To compose herself, Louisa made a ritual of going into the morning, greeting it face to face, defying her instinctual fears, challenging her ghosts. Covered by darkness, she would slip out of the compound to walk for as long as was necessary, and soon she grew intimate with the gray mornings and with the restive shore. She would walk, shivering in the dampness, never quite stepping into the tide as it inched slowly up the sand. Often she was engulfed in the silver fog that wound its glistening mist around her. But the chill she felt was not merely physical, and even the heavy wool shawl she clutched around herself could not protect her. She paced the wide, seemingly endless beach like a delicate, weary shore bird, her blue dressing gown as pale as the morning, wondering if she would ever be completely free from the ice-cold grip of pain and sorrow.

  Now, suddenly, those months of waiting, those moments that were often tortured and lonely and passed so slowly were erased by the news that Marshall Hudson would soon disembark from the Golden Lady. The ship had been due, but Marshall's appearance was totally unexpected. Louisa was eager to welcome him into her life again, but only under the right circumstances. She swore this to herself even in the confusion of his sudden arrival. Yet, she was joyous because this must mean he was coming for her, otherwise why would he come at all? Their parting had been so final, and, even in her desire for him, she had not entertained the slightest hope that their separation was not permanent.

  While Louisa tried to rest after the exhausting day, she found herself restless and eager in spite of her weariness. Her contractions had begun in the early afternoon, and she'd welcomed them, her labor progressing normally until shortly before dusk. Then, the pain stopped. Louisa was full term, but Carmen assured her, "Sometimes first babies are a little slow." She had only Carmen to rely on, and she'd come to trust her in all matters. "I have no choice but to trust you now," Louisa said wearily. The sturdy, dark Mexican woman saw herself as much a mother as a servant to Louisa, and Louisa had bonded herself to Carmen like countless other sea-swept creatures had. At times Carmen was as volatile as her mixture of Spanish and Indian blood might suggest, but to Louisa she was as gentle and protective as the silent morning fog that crept along the coast.

  And when Louisa asked for the carriage to be brought for her so she could meet Marshall at the harbor, Carmen exploded, horrified by her request. "No, señora!" Carmen gasped. "Your pains stopped for now but that don't mean you not having a baby!"

  Louisa knew Carmen thought she had completely lost her mind, but Carmen could not know the joy she felt, or her longing to touch Marshall again. Though he was partially responsible for her banishment to California, he had loved her, and she had loved him, beyond all redemption she knew. He had known her all of her life, and had interceded for her soul when she had felt most desolate. He had loved her when she was certain there was no hope for her and, in a way, had abandoned her only to save her. Marshall had been the source of all light in Louisa's life for as long as she could recall, so it did not seem so strange to her that she would go to meet him at this odd time.

  Carmen did not know the full history of Louisa's relocation to California, but she recognized simple insanity when she saw it. Her face livid, she yelled at Louisa, "Now, you listen to Carmen! You soon gonna need all your strength. Señor Hudson can get here without your help. Back to bed, niña!"

  "All right, Carmen," Louisa obeyed reluctantly. "But send the carriage on immediately. I want someone there the minute he gets ashore."

  "Si, señora," Carmen said, hastening from the room before her mistress could reconsider.

  Louisa settled back into the pillows, wondering what the night would hold. The priest should be summoned, she thought suddenly. "Surely, Marshall win want the union sanctified before the birth." She was elated to think he would be with her for the delivery of their baby. It would help erase the endless months she had waited totally alone. But Marshall had not known of the pregnancy, and neither had she when she left Louisiana. She only learned she was "with child," as the "doctor" had advised her, aboard ship.

  She had been so incredibly ill by the time the Winged Horse left its last American port that
Captain Tomas Sebastian had said, "You're in my charge, Miz Hudson. I can't have you waste away before we even lose sight of land. You've traveled with me before and you never paled so."

  Ordinarily, Louisa came alive aboard ship, the sea air only enhancing her delicate appearance. She usually looked like fine porcelain, fragile and beautifully feminine, slender with shining blue eyes, and long honey-blond hair left free to fly in the breezes. But, in fact, it was a false appearance, for beneath the fragility lay a reserve of strength that surprised even Louisa.

  Now, she appeared gaunt, rather than slim, weak rather than delicate, and she couldn't conceal her increasing illnesses. She and the captain often took meals together. Lately she ate sparingly, or not at all. And, what she ate usually did not stay with her for long. Finally, one morning while she was retching before she even touched food, the captain came to her door with Doc Ellis.

  "Doc is not a regular physician," he apologized, "but he's seen his share, and he's helped us through many a rough spot. Besides, he's the best nursemaid you'll find aboard this ship. Tell him your troubles and he'll do what he can for ya."

  Louisa stared at both men with glassy eyes, not caring whether she lived or died. But in her present state she could hardly protest, and Captain Tomas left Ellis and his skeptical patient alone to discuss her ailments. If anything, Doc Ellis was sure of himself and not the least bit reticent. "You pregnant?" was his first question. Louisa started, then retched again, feeling more miserable than she had thought possible. She had been steadfastly forcing the possibility of pregnancy from her mind. Oh, God, she thought, and vomited again.

  Doc Ellis went to her and felt her forehead. "No fever?"

  "No fever," Louisa replied as she sank onto her soft bunk.

  "Any aching, thirst, or dizziness?"

  "None, just weakness and nausea."

  "Weakness is 'cause you're not eating proper. You bleed regular?"

  Louisa colored at his bluntness, shaking her head in answer.

  "Well, seems a damned good possibility to me. When'd you bleed last?"

  "I've only missed once," she said quietly.

  "I take it you're not going to insist you're a virgin," he said matter-of-factly.

  By that point, Louisa had somewhat recovered her stomach, and her tongue. She looked Doc Ellis full in the face. "Nor do I claim to have been ravished, beaten, and mistreated! You've merely pointed out what I chose to deny for convenience and peace of mind. Thank you for your diagnosis. You can assure the captain I'll no doubt survive this ailment!"

  Doc was unmoved by her heated outburst, and continued almost as if it hadn't occurred. "I'll see Cook sends you broth and bread until you can manage. Get some fresh air when you can. I'll report to the captain you are with child." He paused to look at the very pale young woman. "Think he was suspicious anyway." He went to the door. "Your first?"

  "Yes, my first," she said drily.

  "You seem fit enough otherwise. Best you're going by sea, though. This voyage will be fair enough. We're traveling at a good time of year."

  Some weeks later, she wondered at his prediction. The trip had been unremarkable after she recovered her appetite, but it certainly was not mild by her standards. As the ship struggled around Cape Horn, Louisa did not consider the storms in any respect close to mild, although Captain Tomas said he'd seen much worse. It would take two months of further traveling to reach her destination, and by the time she was settled in the California compound, she would be into her fifth month of pregnancy. She traveled alone, with adequate provisions for establishing a respectable household at the end of the California coast. She would be expected at her destination if overland messages had preceded her as planned, and she presumed correctly that all would be ready for her. Her guardian Simon Hudson was renowned for efficiency, so she felt certain her needs would be well met. Recently, Louisa had been a severe disruption to Simon Hudson's orderly household, but he did not begin to know the extent. What would the outcome have been, she wondered, if her pregnancy had been known before she left Louisiana?

  Perhaps she should have been more suspicious of her physical condition as her slender body filled out almost voluptuously, and she shone like a jewel despite everything that seemed to be crashing down around her. But she had not noticed the changes in herself as much as had Marshall who watched her bloom even amid the destruction of their private dreams. He wondered at the sudden fullness of her breasts and the tautness of her belly, but he never questioned her as he caressed her silken body. In their passion, neither could believe the arrangements to which they had both given their consent. And they stole what time they could together, unable to change their fate which seemed irrevocably sealed.

  Chapter Two

  AFTER what seemed an undue length of time, Louisa heard the carriage returning to the compound. She had waited, resting as quietly as possible, trying to order her tumbling thoughts, and now she excitedly lifted her awkward form from the bed. Her labor pains had not returned, and she assumed her earlier pain was only a false beginning, just as Carmen said.

  Anticipating Marshall's arrival, Louisa had dressed carefully in an emerald green dress with an appealing low neckline that distracted the eye from her very obvious condition. As the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the house, Louisa rushed from her room, nearly stepping on Carmen in her haste to greet Marshall.

  But the carriage was empty.

  Louisa was frightened by the driver's worried look. He spoke excitedly to Carmen in Spanish, glancing anxiously at the woman's mistress. Carmen's sob and "Dios mio!" accompanied by the sign of the cross made Louisa turn to ice.

  "Tell me, tell me!" she cried, caught up in Carmen's excitement."

  A terrible fire on Golden Lady, señora. There is much excitement in the harbor. Some men died."

  "Where is Señor Hudson, Manuel?" Louisa demanded directly of the driver. "Why have you returned without him?"

  Carmen shuddered. The driver did not answer, refusing to look her in the eye.

  "Well?" Louisa shrieked.

  "Señor Hudson is missing," whispered Carmen.

  Louisa thought she would faint, but instead she stumbled into the house for her cloak, and returned demanding Manuel drive her back to the harbor.

  "But, señora, you cannot go in your condition!" Carmen exclaimed.

  "Damned if I can't," retorted Louisa. "It doesn't seem this baby will be born tonight, and I can't sit here wondering. Are you coming with me, Carmen? If so, let's go―now!"

  The driver assisted the women into the carriage. "Hurry!" Louisa called after him. From Carmen's anxious look, Louisa was well aware that the woman was holding her tongue in face of her ferocity. "If necessary, I'll whelp at the pier, but I won't stay here," Louisa snapped as the carriage turned back to the harbor.

  The short trip took longer than usual because of darkness and, measured only by Louisa's heartbeats, seemed interminable. She did not dare consider anything but a natural delay due to the confusion of the fire. But if that's so, why am I rushing to the scene in this state? she asked herself.

  Carmen appeared to be praying "for us all," Louisa suspected, yet she couldn't pray herself, feeling suddenly drained. No rational thought entered her head, no utterable prayer. She felt wild, as if she were about to explode. And she felt gigantic, like a balloon, she thought as she pressed her arms around her inflated body. A balloon released to the elements and out of control in the battering wind. God, where will I come down? she wondered.

  When they arrived at the dock, the harbor was exceptionally quiet considering a fire had been reported aboard the latest ship to arrive. There was a lot of activity, but nothing resembling the panic a fire could produce. Everything seemed relatively calm, and, in turn, Louisa calmed herself while she waited in the carriage for Manuel to find Luther Dobson. "He will know. He knows everything about the port," she reassured herself in the seemingly calm night.

  It took some time for Manuel to reappear, and Louisa felt a hard contr
action which, with enormous control, she concealed from Carmen. Perspiration beaded her forehead, and Carmen suspected instantly when Louisa's face was reflected in the glow of a passing torch. Then, Luther Dobson approached the carriage, looking none too pleased to see Louisa. "Mrs. Hudson, you shouldn't have come. This is no time for you to be out."

  "Luther, I'm looking for a passenger from the Golden Lady, a ...." she stammered, "Marshall―Marshall Hudson. He was aboard―I just received word today. I couldn't wait at the compound after I heard about the fire. I understand there have been deaths. Have you seen him?"

  Luther Dobson sighed, and reached to assist Louisa from the carriage. He said nothing further, but ushered her into his cluttered office at the foot of the dock. "You rest here, Mrs. Hudson, and I'll be back momentarily. Are you sure you're all right?" he demanded when she took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, steadying herself against the edge of his desk. "Yes. Yes," she said hastily, then sat down behind a stack of documents and ledgers piled on Luther's desk.

  Louisa waited, counting the minutes, and paced the tiny office. Her contractions were now mild and irregular, and her mind raced over memories of the past and her sudden hopes for the future.

  Luther returned shortly. "Don't ask questions. Just come with me," he said quietly, taking her arm, helping her in the darkness. He carried a lantern, and they walked a short distance to a small storage shed which he unlocked and quickly ushered her into.

  Heavy coils of rope hung down the walls and barrels were stacked everywhere, covering most of the floor space. But immediately Louisa saw the draped plank set on a cleared space on the floor. Her heart lurched, and she leaned against Luther. "He died of smoke. Wasn't touched by the flames. It was an accident. Fire in a passageway. Trapped him in his cabin. Got the fire out before it got to him, but the smoke . . . you can look at him, if you want." He hesitated then, touching her trembling arm. "Maybe you shouldn't."