Ford, Jessie Read online

  "Leave us alone, Luther," Louisa commanded in a whisper.

  "But Mrs. Hudson?"

  "Please! I don't have much time!" she cried urgently.

  Luther placed the lantern securely on one of the barrels, and retreated reluctantly, turning to look at the young woman who stood immobile in the close shed. Then he shut the door to stand impatiently before it. The bustle in the port had declined to nothing, and he felt certain, with the other deaths, that this body could be concealed easily. "Damn the fire," he grumbled under his breath.

  Marshall Hudson's death was a tragic accident, certainly uncalled for. He was thought to be an innocent party in the affairs under investigation. It definitely was not part of the plan, yet perhaps it would facilitate matters. "God, poor Louisa Hudson!" intoned Luther, not one to be easily moved.

  When Luther left her alone with the body, Louisa stood frozen for a few moments. She felt as if she had crawled into a crypt, possibly her own. Certainly, if what she feared was true, she might very well die. She was weary and her whole body felt weighted down as she moved slowly to the covered form and crouched beside it.

  Tears spilled from her eyes as she remembered Marshall's almost beautiful face, his wonderful deepbrown eyes, the warmth of his dark olive skin against hers. "God, I've tried to forget you," she sighed, choking on her tears. Carefully, dreading what she would see, Louisa pulled away the sheeting. "Oh, Marshall, Marshall," she whispered, leaning against his body. For several minutes, she cried shamelessly, quietly choking her sobs for fear Luther would rush in after her. Then she looked again at Marshall's face. His eyes were closed, but otherwise he looked perfect, as if he were asleep. She brushed his lean face with her fingertips, stroked his shining black hair, and took his cold hands in hers. "How can it be we're separated again? And by another fire!" she cried in an anguished whisper. "Oh, why did you come here? It was all right. You knew that. I came here, even though I loved you. Because I loved you." She felt she was drowning in her own tears as she knelt beside him, clutching him to her as if he could surely hear and feel her.

  Suddenly gripped by an even deeper chill, she stopped crying. Louisa sensed she was being watched, and as she held Marshall, she raised her eyes. A dark figure was standing, watching her from the shadows. Louisa shrank from the body and from the other dark figure. She was transfixed, unable to sort out what she saw. What did she see?

  Louisa knew her whole being wished to deny the inexorable loss of the man she loved so desperately, the man she had given up hope of ever having by her side again. She could barely comprehend his death. But who was this other man, who, though still and silent, was very much alive? She wanted to run in terror, but, just as in some of her worst dreams, she could not move. She could only stare helplessly.

  Shock covered her and she slipped into an almost dreamlike state where reality and fantasy were not easily distinguishable. It was a hazy, oddly familiar place she had been many times before. Louisa swayed slightly, and the man who stood before her crouched quickly, steadying her with warm strong hands. She looked into his face, overwhelmed by its familiarity, his touching her too much to bear, and she collapsed against him, succumbing to a contraction that seemed to crush her. Gasping for breath, she closed her eyes tightly against the intense pain, struggling to keep from screaming. When the wave of pain released her, she opened her eyes and looked down, again to see a man's body. "Marshall?" she questioned as the next contraction overcame her.

  Then her rescuer lifted her gently into his arms and carried her from the dimly lit room into the cool night air. With a nod to Luther Dobson, he placed Louisa in her waiting carriage, and climbed in next to her, pulling her against him. "Go on carefully, but swiftly," he demanded in a voice she recognized, and the driver obeyed instantly.

  Louisa clutched frantically at the man she thought she knew, feeling her nerves stretched beyond endurance. Carmen watched her with alarm and listened with great concern to Louisa's cries of misery. She noted Louisa's unmistakable pain, but saw the agony in her face was not merely physical. At first, Louisa cried uncontrollably, calling out with each of the contractions that now seemed very intense and more closely spaced than Carmen would have liked.

  As they traveled cautiously toward home, Louisa's crying soon stopped. She had no more tears to shed. She was too exhausted and filled with despair. She was comforted, yet confused by the man who held her firmly in his arms. "Who are you?" she asked almost silently, turning her face up to his as she nestled against him in a respite from pain. He put his cheek against hers and gathered her closer to him. "I'm who you think I am. I'm here to be with you," he whispered for only her to hear, and he raised his head to smile down at her. Louisa closed her eyes and rested quietly against him, now bearing her pain quietly until weariness overcame her and she slept between contractions. He held her, and when she needed him to comfort her, he stroked her, moving his hands surely against her back as she arched her body toward him.

  Carmen could only worry over Louisa's state, realizing the struggle yet to come. Louisa seemed already spent, yet the birth was probably many hours away, and the greatest test still to be met. Carmen would assist Louisa as best she could, having attended many a birth as well as bearing five children of her own. None had survived and she prayed desperately that Louisa would be spared such grief. Louisa had captured Carmen's heart, and had responded openly to her mothering, seeming to have a deep need also unfulfilled. But there was little comfort or aid for Carmen to give on the journey home. As much as could be given was offered by someone else. She only hoped this darkly handsome man, who seemed remarkably in control, could lend Louisa courage and strength, and when they arrived at the compound, Carmen led the way to Louisa's room, then rushed off to complete her earlier preparations.

  Louisa felt herself lowered onto her bed, and he sat with her, holding her hands while she grasped at him. "I'm here now. I won't leave you. Trust me," he said.

  God, who are you? Louisa asked silently. Why didn't he tell her what she longed to hear? Hadn't the words always come easily?

  "I love you, Marshall. My God, I've ached for you! Where have you been? You've been away a long time, haven't you? Why can't I remember?" It seemed his presence and her pain were all she could attend to.

  Carmen interrupted them and all but threw him out of the room amid Louisa's hysterical protests. She undressed Louisa and forced her to drink a small cup of warm bittersweet liquid. "This will help. You won't take till morning, just do as I say."

  Thereafter, everything became even more dreamlike. Louisa only vaguely recalled the priest, but she remembered Marshall and the sense of strength she felt in him when she grasped his hands trying to survive her pain, and also his gentleness whenever he touched her swollen belly between contractions. She recalled her incredible urge to push down, to finally free the captive within her, and then see her gorgeous baby, Rachel, perfect in every detail, miraculous and fat and crying vigorously. But, most of all, she would never forget Marshall, and how he seemed to be as awed and as joyful over their wonderful creation as she was.

  Chapter Three

  AFTER the birth, Louisa slept peacefully for several hours, waking to nurse her eager infant, and then sleeping soundly again. Carmen hovered over both mother and child. She was confident the sturdylooking baby would fare well. However, her concern for Louisa only increased. The delivery had gone well enough, but all that preceded the birth seemed to have left Louisa unsettled. Maybe she just needs rest, Carmen thought. I've forgotten how it is. Been a long time since I had a baby. At least her appetite was reassuring. "If you keep on, no one will notice your baby was born," Carmen laughed as Louisa ate double her usual portions that evening.

  Over the next week a routine was established under Carmen's watchful eye. The man who identified himself as Marshall Hudson reappeared at intervals, made his requirements known, and established himself in the house. He said he had come to oversee the family's shipping affairs in California. He was solicitous of Louis
a's well-being, but Carmen noticed Louisa was surprisingly cautious with him. From what she'd seen on the night of his arrival, Carmen had expected more than polite indifference to pass between the couple. He was quite indifferent to Rachel, yet Carmen thought she could understand that. He didn't seem the kind of man to be preoccupied with anyone's children, even his own. So, Carmen concerned herself exclusively with getting Louisa fit again.

  For her part, Louisa seemed to be fully occupied with the euphoria of successful childbirth. She spent hours mindlessly looking after herself and Rachel, with Carmen interceding as often as she was allowed.

  Louisa had little time or inclination to dwell on the man who called himself Marshall Hudson, never once thinking of the day preceding Rachel's arrival.

  As the days wore on, Carmen sensed a hollowness about Louisa, but she couldn't pin down her uneasiness. The young mother was cheerful and attentive with her new baby, not seeming to overlook the slightest of Rachel's needs. Louisa also seemed to be regaining her strength, eating well and providing plentifully for her infant. But there was a blandness, a flatness, in her responses that concerned Carmen. Señora Hudson has always been moody, reflected Carmen, but not empty. Yet beyond Rachel's needs, Louisa now lacked vitality. "Oh, well," sighed Carmen, "it will take time."

  Louisa also felt empty. On the one hand she was pleased with herself; Rachel was a fine baby, a child to please even the most exacting parent. And physically, Louisa had come through the birth with relative ease, giving her a sense of strength and hope. But slowly a deep loneliness invaded her, and by the time Rachel was six weeks old, Louisa was very restless and discontent. She saw Marshall only briefly during the course of her day, merely accepting his presence, exchanging few words with him.

  Then, one morning Marshall left the compound abruptly, saying he was going north to inspect mining properties. Louisa thought his leaving would matter very little to her, but she found herself thinking of him constantly. His absence gnawed at her. Gradually she began to recall the recent events, and the past, and her nights became unbearable as her dreams once again became haunted. For several nights she woke screaming, sweating, almost choking, believing the house was on fire. Carmen was quite alarmed because each time Louisa seemed more distraught, increasingly unable to realize she'd only had a nightmare.

  He's murdered Marshall, she thought. But the idea made no sense in the light of day.

  Louisa began to let Carmen take greater care of Rachel. She resumed her walks along the beach, rested, read, and oversaw the small household. It seemed to her all she was urgently needed for was to nurse the hungry infant. She had little else to concern herself with, for she had been nearly reclusive since her arrival in San Diego.

  Often her mornings began just before light when she woke to the mewing of gulls circling above the beach. She listened to the thundering waves, puzzling over her thoughts and dreams, and by the time Marshall had been absent three weeks, she had recalled fully the events of the past and the present. Louisa knew who she was, but not who he was. He was not Marshall, of that she was certain, but she said nothing to anyone. Who would I tell? In this country, who else cares? But what can he want? And though she had regained her sense of reality, her dreams grew more distorted.

  She began staying up later each night to avoid closing her eyes in the darkness. One night she stayed up until Rachel's last night feeding, propping herself in the bedside rocking chair, leaning a familiar book on the night table. Soon the lateness of the hour found her nodding. She too quickly started up from her dozing, knocking the lamp off its perch. Instantly the glass shattered, spilling oil and flames on the lace draperies, and on the carpet. This time Louisa woke to a living fire, not merely one from her memories, and she was paralyzed, mesmerized before the flames.

  Reflected in the windowpanes, doubling their visual effect, the flames slithered quickly. Louisa tried to call out, but she was transfixed and transported in time. Suddenly she started to laugh wildly, tipping the table with its lace cloth into the leaping flames. She reached for the bedding to throw it into the growing conflagration, but as she moved, she was caught forcibly by Marshall, who dragged her out of the way. "God damn! Are you crazy?" he shouted and thrust her at Carmen, rushing to beat the flames with the same comforter with which she would have fueled the fire.

  Louisa looked stunned, coming quickly to her senses. She ran to Rachel's room, and Carmen's screeching alerted men from the compound to help. Quickly the fire was smothered or drowned, and with it Louisa's room.

  When the house was empty of helpers, Carmen looked wildly at Louisa, snatching an unhappy Rachel away from her mother. "What is the matter with you, señora?" she demanded. Her heart was pounding wildly, her night clothes and hair in great disarray. "I know you are not yourself, but are you completely loca? You could have killed yourself, all of us, your precious baby! Is that what you meant?"

  "Carmen," Marshall interrupted. "Take Rachel back to bed." Turning to Louisa, he added, "I'll see to the señora. It's time we understood each other."

  "This isn't your house to set in order," she flashed as Carmen disappeared.

  "You're mistaken. I'm legally your husband and Rachel's father. You may not recall the priest, but he was here, and our union has been formally acknowledged, señora." He moved toward her, taking her arm brusquely, forcing her to sit next to him on a small settee. "And, it will be my pleasure to consummate our union at some appropriate time."

  "You admit you're not Marshall," Louisa said, choosing to ignore his last comment. "I wondered how much longer you'd pretend. But your resemblance is breathtaking. How can it be? And, why?" Her eyes filled with tears. "Did you kill him?" she whispered, finally voicing her dread, and any fierceness she felt vanished. Louisa put her hands over her face and cried softly, but deeply.

  "My name is Aaron Sumner," he said quietly, taking her hands from her face. "Look at me!" he said sternly. "To the world, I am Marshall Hudson, a man who has joined his lover and made her his wife." He stared deeply at Louisa as she watched him silently. "Marshall's death was unnecessary. He was to have been held secretly until the investigation was concluded, and I was to take his place. My resemblance to him is remarkable, isn't it?" he asked in a voice discouraging an answer.

  "What investigation? Marshall was never involved in anything needing investigation. I can vouch for it."

  "I won't explain. Let me just remind you, there are things in your past that would best not be investigated in any depth." His voice was threatening and Louisa sucked in her breath, paling visibly even in the dimness of the room.

  "Who are you? You've given me your name, but that hardly explains anything. How can you possibly know the things you allude to? And if you know everything you say, how can you mention Marshall in the same breath with 'investigation'? You couldn't have known him!"

  "All I say is strictly a warning. I speak to you now because, as long as you're sober and rational, I know you couldn't fool yourself about my being Marshall. You were a little too familiar with him, and for too long," he grinned. Then his voice hardened and his body stiffened. "Make no mistake. This is very serious business, and its gravity puts you in a precarious position should you think of not cooperating." He gripped both her arms tightly above the elbows, and turned her forcibly to him, putting his face very close to hers. "Do not fool yourself that you are indispensable. I would just as soon you cooperate in the masquerade," he said, taking a long look at the fullness of her breasts. "But you are, despite your beauty, nonessential. Don't forget it," he whispered with a murderous look that communicated all he intended.

  Louisa had no reply. Her mouth was dry, and her blood cold. She was frozen, looking into a face that was both handsome and deadly. How odd, she thought, that Marshall's apparent double was so unlike her memories. It was confusing. Her recollection of Marshall was of warmth and light, but the reality of the face before her was dangerous, cold and on the edge of final darkness. Aaron Sumner looked exhausted, but vitally alert. He m
ust have been traveling long and hard, she remembered. His clothing was well cut and covered his lean, muscular body perfectly. He was obviously playing Marshall's part well, both men careful of detail.

  In answer to her utter silence, he continued, releasing his grip on her. "In view of the little bonfire tonight, now is as good a time as any for us to begin sharing the same bed. And now that you're well recovered, it will be my pleasure, Mrs. Hudson."

  Louisa only stared.

  "You needn't be demure, Mrs. Hudson. I know too much about you," he said as he stood up and turned to leave the room, obviously expecting her to follow him. When she did not, he faced her again and commanded, "Now!"

  Chapter Four

  LOUISA reflected on her options. Aaron Sumner had left her very few. In fact, none. She sat motionless at his command, fatigued and beaten, and he sensed her immobility was defeat, not defiance. Her paleness and fragility was cast against the dimly lit room, her honey-blond hair enfolding her body as it cascaded down her shoulders and back. She sat amid a few of her treasured and carefully transported possessions, and despite her simple bedclothes, she was unmistakably elegant, like the French furnishings in the room. Aaron thought of her as a possible bonus in this assignment, yet an unpredictable one. He knew a great deal about her past, and even more about her present. He knew he'd made his point with her, but from tonight's events, he wondered if she might again be treading the fine line of madness.

  After several moments, Louisa stood to follow him. Silently she put out the lamp and, pausing, looked hard at the man waiting for her. He seemed wonderfully familiar, but she had only to reflect on his recent words to remember this was a different man from the one with whom she had been so intimate. She knew she could linger no longer without provoking his anger, so she moved quietly to face him.