Mysterious Vows

A swell of organ music resounded from the opposite side of the closed door. “The Wedding March.” Surely she was dreaming.

Her fingers laced in a tight knot on her lap. The worst of the headache had ebbed. “I am feeling much better,” she said.

“I’m glad.” He sounded sympathetic, but his tightly clenched jaw and frowning eyebrows told another story. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

He certainly didn’t behave like a person who was about to be wedded. On the other hand, neither did she.

Maria... She repeated her new name to herself. I am Maria. And Maria had no time for marriage. There was her career to think of. She couldn’t just run off and get married. It would be unprofessional. She’d worked hard to develop her contacts, to become a...

A what? What did she do for a living? In her mind, she envisioned bookshelves, papers on a desk. When she tried to read the pages, to find a clue, the wind blew swiftly through the open window beside the desk and the sheaves of paper drifted and swirled like so many leaves caught in autumn breezes. And the wind came faster. Her mind filled with a white paper storm, and she was cold. Blank. Unable to remember.

“Maria!” he snapped again. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nada,” she murmured. “Nothing.”

She would tell him nothing until she knew if he was a friend or a foe.

There were people who wanted to hurt her, she realized with a shock. There were people who wanted to kill her. An unnatural terror coiled deep within her. Fear was her only certainty, and she must keep her secrets until she regained her ability to think.

He placed a bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath in her hand. Her wedding bouquet. She held the flowers close to her face, inhaling the fragrance.

He seemed gentler when he said, “These are for you, Maria.”

“Gracias.”

“Come along, now. This will only take a minute.”

He stood, and she noticed that his dark gray suit seemed too large for his tall, lean frame. He picked up a polished ebony cane with a silver head. When he walked to the door, his steps were halting. His left leg was stiff. Her first impulse was to run up beside him and help him, but she sensed that he would be displeased by her offer of assistance.

She opened her mouth to speak. What was his name again? “Jason Walker.”

He turned clumsily. Not comfortable with his cane. “Yes, Maria?”

She was about to be married. But did he love her? Did she love him? That seemed impossible. Even if her conscious mind had been erased, the emotion of love could not vanish. Her soul would remember being in love.

When she looked at this man, her heart trembled. Not with love, but with fear. How could she allow herself to be married to a man she couldn’t remember seeing before? She gestured hopelessly. “We cannot do this.”

“We can’t back out now. Your life depends upon it.”

A chill raced down her spine, and she knew he was telling the truth. Her very survival depended upon going through with this ceremony. She must not flinch. In a low, determined voice, she said, “Sí, Mr. Walker. I will marry you.”

“Thank you.” He nodded. “By the way, you look very pretty in your gown. Maria, you make a beautiful bride.”

Jason hobbled from the small parlor, closed the door behind him and forced himself to smile at the guests in the front room. His sister, Alice, bustled up to him. Her china blue eyes were wide with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine. Maria needs a moment alone.”

“And you, Jason? How are you?”

“Couldn’t be better.” With Alice beside him, he edged across the rear of the room and went into his office. “I’ll be out in just a moment.”

“Should I check on Maria?”

“You’d know better than I would.”

“Oh, Jason!” She gave a short, exasperated sigh. “You never did understand women, did you?”

“Apparently not.”

He closed the door to his study.

Maria Ramos Hernandez was not what he’d expected. He’d been told that she was strong and brave, a ferocious fighter when threatened. But no one had mentioned her beauty. And the woman who waited in the parlor to become his bride was a creature of surpassing loveliness. Her thick, wavy black hair tumbled past her shoulders in a riot of curls. Her eyes shone like green emeralds in her dusky complexion. Jason was sorry that this would be a marriage in name only.

When she looked at him with that beguiling innocence, he wanted to touch her, to kiss her ripe, full lips, to soothe her fears.

She had refused to speak of the journey. Since he’d picked her up in his boat, she had done nothing more than sleep, bathe, and take in barely enough food to satisfy a hummingbird.

No doubt, there had been difficulties along her route. Maria had arrived ten hours late with several fresh bruises. Most disturbing, however, was her apparent memory loss. Her short-term memory was gone. She forgot everything he told her from one minute to the next, and must have asked his name half a dozen times.

Alice had been correct when she’d suggested that Maria see a doctor. Though her injuries weren’t immediately life-threatening and her vital signs were good, he was worried about her. He wasn’t sure of her medical history, wasn’t sure exactly how treatment should be handled.

It was dangerous to make any unplanned moves. At his desk, he picked up the telephone and punched out the number he had tried at least a dozen times since Maria had arrived. He allowed the phone to ring and ring. There was still no answer.

He replaced the receiver on the hook. “Damn.”

It was a hell of a time for his source to be missing.

He limped gingerly through the door and skirted the edge of the small gathering of guests and witnesses, greeting some and accepting congratulations from others. Jason took his place beside the reverend, positioning his weight carefully and trying to ignore the constant ache from his shattered leg. The doctors assured him that someday he would be able to move around freely, and he was doing so well now that he barely needed the cane. But there would always be pain.

Jason nodded to his sister and she opened the door to the parlor adjoining the larger room. Everyone turned to catch their first glimpse of the bride. There were gasps when they recognized, as he had, that Maria made a beautiful bride, clad in white, holding her rose bouquet. Her black hair shone with a magnificent luster.

Reverend Blaylock whispered to him, “Very attractive.”

“Yes,” Jason answered. “I know.”

Maria stood frozen in the doorway, her shoulders straight and her small chin lifted defiantly. The woman who played the piano paused with her fingers lifted above the keys, then she started again to play “The Wedding March.”

Maria’s remarkable green-eyed gaze darted left, then right, before fixing upon Jason. Though she stood perfectly still, he could feel the fluttering of her heart, delicate as a captive butterfly. The pleading in her eyes touched him, and he knew she was too frightened to move.

Though Jason hated to be seen walking with his infirmity, he went down the short aisle toward her. When he stood beside her and offered his arm for support, she held on tightly.

Slowly they walked the twenty paces to the front of the room where Reverend Wally Blaylock waited, prayer book in hand.

“Dearly Beloved,” the reverend said. “We are gathered here today to...”

Jason stood, firm and somber. Soon this charade would be over.

The traditional words rolled past like the credits at the beginning of a motion picture. He listened with disinterest. This wasn’t a real marriage, unlike the first time when he’d been wed to Elena, a woman he’d adored. She had been his dearest love, more wondrous than the sun and moon and stars, until death parted them four years ago. He never thought he would love again.

The reverend asked for objections to this marriage. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Jason held his breath. He halfway expected a crew of terrorists or agents from the immigration services to storm his isolated home. But that was absurd. There would be no objections, no specific reasons why he and Maria could not become man and wife...other than the obvious fact that they hardly knew each other.

As he glanced down at her lustrous black hair, a strange sense of possessiveness came over him. He wanted to ease her fears. Softly he asked, “Are you all right?”

“Sí.”

She tightened her grasp on Jason’s arm, clinging to him for physical support as a tidal wave of nausea crashed over her. Her mind reeled dizzily. Her knees felt weak. She needed to lie down, to sleep, to end this horrid sense of disorientation.

Jason rested his hand atop hers and squeezed. He was staring at her. His storm-gray eyes were expectant, as if he were waiting for an answer. But she did not know the question.

The reverend cleared his throat and said, “Do you, Maria Ramos Hernandez, take this man, Jason Wakefield Walker the Third, to be your lawfully married husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

How could she agree? I don’t know this man. I don’t know why I’m here.

“Say it,” Jason whispered.

Her lips parted, but she did not speak. She couldn’t lie, couldn’t pledge her hand in marriage to a man she did not love.

He leaned close and whispered in Spanish. “Maria, this is dangerous. You must go through with this. Now.”

She glanced at the people watching, a well-dressed assemblage of ten or fifteen men and women. Their eyes were polite but cold. Every one of them was a stranger to her.

“I, Maria...” She couldn’t remember her name! Frantically she looked to Jason for help.

“Maria Ramos Hernandez,” he whispered.

“I, Maria Ramos Hernandez, take this man...” His name? “Jason,” she said triumphantly. “Jason Wakefield Walker the Third, until death do us part.”

The reverend concluded the ceremony quickly and said, “You may kiss the bride.”

Chapter Two

Reverend Blaylock repeated, “You may kiss the bride.”

Jason had thought to give her a small, respectful peck on the cheek, but when he rested his hands on her delicate shoulders and saw her trembling smile, he clasped her more tightly than he had intended.

Her gaze was troubled, like a wavering green sea of doubt, but she embraced him as if she meant it, fitting her supple body against his.

She was beautiful. It had been a long time since he’d held a beautiful woman.

His mouth claimed hers. Their kiss was like sweet fire, tasting of honey and desire. And Jason craved more.

Her lips parted, inviting him. Before he could stop himself, he thrust his tongue between her teeth. She startled in his arms. Her body tensed. Then she returned his passion one hundredfold. Her tongue slipped into his mouth. Her hands against his back grasped urgently. The friction of her body rubbing against him drove him wild.

My God! His senses reeled. The intensity of the unexpected passion transported him and he forgot his pain, his bitterness. For the first time in months he felt like a whole, strong man again. Then they separated. The moment passed.

They turned and faced the small group of family and friends who applauded enthusiastically. Except for one, Jason noticed. Edward Elliot, a state senator, clapped twice and allowed his hands to fall loosely to his sides. The usual politician’s smile was absent from his ruddy face.

Jason escorted Maria down the aisle between his guests, and they took a position in the archway leading to the dining room where the long table had been set for the catered buffet. He walked slowly, without stumbling, and used his cane so he wouldn’t have to lean on her for support.

“Congratulations!” his friends and family cried, as if this were a real wedding, a celebration of love and eternal happiness.

He forced himself to return their smiles. With his shattered leg and broken dreams, he was unfit to be any woman’s husband. Maria deserved better. In her pristine white gown she was as lovely and traditional as the miniature figurine that decorated the wedding cake.

She stood beside him. Her thick lashes lifted and she gazed up at him with flashing green eyes. She was his wife. This incredible woman was his bride. Jason would be hard put to remember that their marriage was born of political necessity.

The guests had formed a casual line, and Jason translated their words into Spanish so that she would understand.

“Maria, you know my sister, Alice.”

Alice dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a lace hanky. “Oh, Maria, you make a lovely bride. Muy bonita.” She glanced at Jason. “That’s right, isn’t it? Bonita?”

“Excellent, sis. You’re practically bilingual.”

She grasped Maria’s hands in her own. Abandoning her attempt to communicate in Spanish, Alice rattled off the afternoon’s agenda. “Well, Maria. Here’s what I have planned. A light buffet and, of course, the cake. Hope you like chocolate with white chocolate frosting. Now, the custom in our country is to save the top layer, freeze it, and eat it on the first anniversary. Shall I take care of the freezing for you?”

Maria nodded.

Alice frowned at Jason. “Does she have any idea what I’m talking about?”

“You’d be surprised,” he said.

“Anyway,” Alice continued, “I know you’re exhausted. So, I’ll try to move things along. We can probably ferry almost everyone back to the mainland on Reverend Blaylock’s big powerboat by five o’clock. Then you can relax.”

“Relax?” Reverend Blaylock popped up beside Alice. “That’s not much of a honeymoon, eh?”

“We’ll manage,” Jason said. Though he wasn’t a regular churchgoer, he liked Wally Blaylock. “Any pointers?”

“I think you know the right thing to do.”

Jason gave a perfunctory grin. Unfortunately, he doubted that the right thing would include the traditional honeymoon lovemaking. He swallowed his disappointment and continued to behave in the expected manner of a groom. Beneath his social facade, a strong desire raged within him. Their kiss had sparked emotions he’d thought were dead in his heart.

“My sincerest congratulations,” the reverend said. He addressed Maria in excellent Spanish. “Excuse me for asking, Maria, but are you Catholic? Coming from a Central American country, I expected that you would be.”

“Is the marriage legal?” Jason questioned.

“To be sure.”

“Then, what does it matter?”

“What, indeed?” The reverend grasped Maria’s hand and pumped vigorously. His friendliness seemed sincere. “Don’t be a stranger. I’ll see you in church. Both of you. Right, Maria?”

“I will be there.” She hesitated slightly. “With my husband.”

The reverend stepped aside, and the informal reception line filed past them. Jason introduced an aged aunt and her companion, and a couple he referred to as neighbors.

“Here?” Maria asked him. “Do we have neighbors here on the island?”

“Mine is the only house on the island,” he said. Last night when they had arrived, it had been too dark for her to explore. This morning, she’d been sleeping and dressing. He was looking forward to showing her around. “I hope you will like it here.”

Politely she responded, “I am sure I will.”

As she greeted his guests, it was obvious to Jason that, despite Maria’s nervousness, she’d done this before. She had experience in reception lines and was fully cognizant of the proper social expressions and manners. Though she spoke no English to any of them, she managed to charm each and every one of their guests, men and women alike.

Another surprise, he thought. According to his information, Maria had grown up in a rural village. Though well-educated, she was described as being a person who put her journalism career first and placed little value in social contacts. But the woman who stood beside him had an unmistakable aura of poise and sophistication.

“You’re doing very well,” he complimented.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. She wanted to please him. The passionate force of his kiss—and her own instinctive response to him—had made her think that perhaps she truly was in love with this man. Being in his arms had felt so exquisitely right.

Perhaps she had agreed to this marriage for all the right reasons. Though she could not remember their relationship, it would be truly wonderful if such reasons existed. If there were love between them... She would try, with all her will, to recall.

Another guest stood in front of them.

“Maria, this is Edward Elliot. He’s a senator in the Maine state legislature.”

Edward clasped her hand firmly. “Delighted to meet you. Jason is a lucky man to have found a beauty like you, Maria.”

Jason translated into Spanish, and she murmured, “Gracias.”

“No English?” he questioned.

“A little,” she said. This well-dressed, blustery, red-faced man seemed excessively interested in her. Most of Jason’s guests were content to shake her hand, wish her well and move into the dining area where the buffet was set, but Edward still held Maria’s hand in a tight, sweaty grip.

“I think you know more than a little English,” he guessed. “When you spoke your wedding vows, you had almost no trace of an accent.”

Jason had turned to another guest, and so did not translate.

Though Maria understood every word Edward had spoken, she did not acknowledge the truth in his statement. She sensed danger. It was better not to reveal too much, to hide behind the shield of Spanish. “No comprendo. Sorry.”

He leaned close, speaking for her ears only. “You’ll never get away with this.”

What had he said?

“I can help you. If Jason tries to—”

Another guest jostled them. “Move along, Eddy.”

Edward reached inside his jacket pocket, and his manner became falsely jocular. “If old Jason gives you a hard time, Maria, here’s where to reach me.” He passed her a business card. “If you need anything, anything at all—”

“What are you saying?” Jason interrupted.

“Inviting your bride into town. Or up to the capital in Augusta. It isn’t all that far away, and she might want to see the sights.”

“Maria doesn’t know how to drive,” Jason informed him.

A protest rose to her lips. Of course she knew how to drive! She’d been driving since she was sixteen.

In a flash, a vivid mental image came into her mind. It was more of an impression, a soundless photograph. She saw a forest green Volvo station wagon parked in the dusk. There were trees. She knew the street, the neighborhood, but she could not put a name to it. Two men sat in the car, watching and waiting. Her heartbeat quickened and fear took root in her mind, throbbing as steadily as her returning headache.

“If Maria wants to go anywhere,” Jason said, “I’ll take her.”

“Not if she’s going to be a true American woman,” Edward responded huffily.

Huffing and puffing, she thought. He was like an ill wind that blew no one any good.

He continued. “The first thing she’ll want is independence. Right, Maria?”

She forced herself to look directly at this man, tried to understand what he meant when he said Jason might give her a hard time. Would Jason hurt her? Despite the celebratory buffet and the chattering guests and her pristine white bridal gown, there seemed to be dark, discordant threats all around her. She didn’t know who to trust. This senator? Or Jason?

Alice had returned to stand beside Maria. In her clumsy Spanish, she indicated that it was time to cut the cake. She held up the silver knife and pointed to it, trying to explain, using sign language. Sunlight from tall windows glinted on the dull blade, and Maria recoiled slightly. There had been a knife. One of the men held a knife.

Maria’s breath caught in her throat. She needed to run, to escape from this island before it was too late.

“Smile!” came a command from a short, wiry man with a Nikon aimed and ready to shoot. “Come on, Jason. Stand a little closer to the lady.”

“No photos,” Jason said firmly.

“But this is for the Gazette.” He lowered the camera and nervously raked his fingers through his long, graying hair, tightening his ponytail. “You’re front-page news, Jason. It’s not every day that the most eligible bachelor in the county gets hitched. Now, say cheese.”

Despite his crippled leg, Jason stepped quickly toward him, snatched his camera from his hands and whipped the embroidered strap up and off his neck.

“Hey! Give that back!”

“First, I’d like for you to meet my bride. Even journalists can be civilized.” He forcibly propelled the small man toward her. “Maria, this is Chip Harrington. He is the chief reporter-photographer-editor for the local newspaper.”

“Delighted,” he said, quickly shaking her hand and turning back to Jason. “Now, can I shoot you?”

“It’s like this,” Jason explained in a low voice. “Maria is very tired after her long trip, and she’d rather not pose for pictures right now. She doesn’t feel like she’s looking her best.”

“Man, if this isn’t her best, I’d like to see—”

“Thanks, Chip, for being so sensitive to her concerns.” Jason waved to his sister and gave her the camera. “Make sure Chip gets this back when he leaves.”

“I’ll let you get away with this on one condition,” Chip said. “If I can’t have a picture, I want an interview with Maria. One on one.”

“But she only speaks Spanish,” Alice observed.

“No problemo.” When Chip grinned, his face became a road map of deep creases that radiated from his mouth to around his eyes, crisscrossing on his high forehead. “Sometimes you people forget that I haven’t always lived here in Maine. I covered a world beat, including El Salvador.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Jason said. Chip’s elfish appearance masked a sharp intellect. He was, by trade, a gatherer of intelligence in this country and in Central America. In addition to his weekly newspaper, he regularly contributed to several national publications.

“With your permission, Maria.” Chip spoke in flawless Spanish. “We will talk for five minutes.”

Jason disliked the idea. He felt possessive about his bride. She wasn’t well, and he didn’t want her to face someone as sly as Chip Harrington until she was ready. “I’ll come with you.”

“Give me a break,” Chip said. “She can’t tell the secret of how she landed a prize catch while you’re standing there. Don’t worry, man. I’m not going to quiz her on the prenuptial agreement or anything. This is strictly a fluff piece. Maria? How about it?”

“I will be happy to speak with you. Though I have little to say.” She separated from Jason and went toward Chip. A newspaperman, she reasoned, ought to be able to give her information about the island and about Jason. She needed to know more about her new husband.

Chip Harrington was approximately her own height, and his easy grin made her feel safe. She gestured toward a love seat beside the fireplace, and they sat. Before he could begin his interview, she asked a question of her own. “This island,” she said. “It is so beautiful. Has Jason lived here long?”

“All his life. The Walker family is descended from whaling captains. But I don’t want to talk about history. Tell me about yourself.”

“I am what you see,” she said in a manner that she hoped was disarming. “Is Jason involved in a seafaring trade?”

“No way. He was almost a doctor. From what I hear, he had only a residency to complete his training. But you know that, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, certainly.” Even with Chip, she needed to be careful not to betray the truth...if she could ever remember what the truth was. “I am so very tired. I forgot.”

“I’ll be brief,” he promised. “So, you’re from Central America. What country?”

“Guermina.” Maria had no idea why she’d chosen that country, but the location sounded right. It seemed equally correct to say, “I look forward to becoming an American citizen.”