TWO
Mrs. Atherton was thin-nosed, hollow-cheeked and exceedingly prim. Nevertheless, it was easy to see that in her youth she had been pretty and perhaps, to a man in love with her, even beautiful. I often make a game of looking at older people and imagining them younger, visualize their cheeks rounding, the softness returning to their eyes, to imagine them as young and impetuous. And sitting with the Athertons in their drawing room, sipping good coffee and eating thin, buttery sugar cookies, I endeavored to picture the Athertons as young, dewy-eyed, and in love - but failed. But when Sibella Atherton waltzed into the room in her straw boater and gray, high-necked suit, her hair severely pulled back into a chignon, she looked far more beautiful than her mother ever could have, even with the assistance of my over-active imagination which now began to imagine Sibella sans clothes. Lovely.
"Sibella, my dear," Mr. Atherton said, rising along with me, "let me introduce you to Mr. Adam Cartwright. Adam, my daughter Sibella," he said, glowing with obvious pride in his beautiful daughter.
"How do you do, Mr. Cartwright." Sibella put out her small gloved hand and I politely took it, gave it a shake and remained standing as manners required, noticing her lovely blue eyes – darker than Hoss' – more like the color of the depths of Lake Tahoe.
"Adam. Please call me Adam," I replied. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
Sibella gave a half-hearted smile and released my hand as if it was something to be quickly discarded.
"Please sit down, Mr. Cartwright. Men standing when a woman enters is so passé, don't you think? So many ideas and rituals in our society promoting inequality between the sexes need to be dismissed. Don't you agree that they're all old-fashioned and designed for nothing more than keeping women subservient?"
I still stood. Sibella was not what I expected. "No, Miss Atherton, I don't." We could both be formal, both refuse to use Christian names.
Sibella looked at me and was about to say something else but her mother spoke.
"Sibella, don't be tiresome. Adam is a guest. Come sit down and have some coffee and cookies with us," Mrs. Atherton said, but Sibella proceeded to remove her hat and gloves in front of a large, rococo mirror, placing her items along with her small bag, on the large credenza under it. She touched her hair, smoothing back some disobedient strands and then smoothed the skirt of her suit. She was as vain as any other beautiful woman her age would be; that gave me some insight into her character.
"Perhaps later, mother. Alan and I had a late lunch. We argued over the party. He can't understand why I don't want one."
"Please, Sibella," Mr. Atherton said. "Adam came all the way from Nevada to bring you a gift."
Sibella turned about. "Oh? Is there no postal service in Nevada, Mr. Cartwright?"
I grinned, having retaken my seat; Sibella showed a sarcastic side and I found myself warming to her. "Yes, we have. And as gallant as my hand-delivering it sounds, I didn't travel all this way just to bring you a gift, although had I known of your loveliness, I would have crawled on my hands and knees across the desert to proffer this small token in remembrance of your birth. But I didn't. I am on my way back home from San Francisco and stopped here to deliver the gift in person – at my father's request. He thinks highly of your parents. To my knowledge, he's never met you."
Sibella blanched at the implied insult, and Mrs. Atherton's mouth dropped open at my obvious sarcasm but Mr. Atherton smiled and then cleared his throat.
"Sibella, my dear, I was just about to invite…" His daughter cut him off.
"Well, Mr. Cartwright, I don't quite know what to think; you bring gifts and then turn around and insult me!" Sibella pulled herself up to her full height – a tad more than five feet I guessed, minus the heels of her small, laced boots, and proceeded to look righteously offended.
"On the contrary," I said. "I have declared your loveliness and my willingness to suffer any discomfort on your behalf. I would hope you would be flattered. And on my father's behalf as well as my own, I hope you are pleased with your gift." It sounded innocuous enough but Sibella's arched brow said different.
"Perhaps I will sit and have coffee," Sibella said, and sat next to her mother on the rose-damasked sofa. Seemed that all women wanted a flowery sofa in their drawing rooms. Her mother poured and Sibella elegantly sipped at her coffee while giving me the side-eye. I think she was flattered by my attention. She made me smile.
"Won't you open your gift?" Mr. Atherton asked. The box sat on the coffee table beside the tea service.
"I suppose I should," she agreed. "Then I can quickly write the thank-you note and you can take it back with you, Mr. Cartwright. Seems you're playing postman on this trip." She smiled as if she had just one-upped me.
Sibella walked to the credenza, and using a small pair of shears from one of the drawers, clipped the twine and unfolded the brown paper. She opened the box and lifted out the necklace. It was a length of perfectly matched deep-green jade beads and hanging in the center was carved round disk. It was a singular flower.
"Oh, it's…lovely." Sibella was sincere in her admiration; I could tell by her face, by the softness of her mouth, the wideness of her eyes.
"Why, Sibella," her mother said, "bring it here, dear." Sibella did as her mother asked, sitting back down. Mrs. Atherton admired the neck, commenting that it was jade, wasn't it?"
"From the color," I said, "it's what's called Imperial jade."
"And what is the flower?" Mrs. Atherton asked, offering the necklace to me. I rose and looked at it. She placed it in my palm and added, "I don't recognize it."
I had seen many Chinese robes and paintings and learned much about Chinese culture, not only first-hand from Hop Sing and the many other Chinese acquaintances I had made, but from my own reading as well. "It's a peony. I believe the Chinese name for the flower means 'beautiful'." I handed it to Sibella who took it and blushed. Then she dropped it in her lap.
"It was kind of your father. I shall have to let him know how…grateful I am." She reached for her coffee and looked elsewhere than at me and the fine china cup rattled a bit on the saucer. Apparently, I had "rattled" Sibella as well.
"Sibella," Mr. Atherton said, "I was just about to suggest earlier that you invite Adam to your party tomorrow night."
"Oh... I plan on heading back in the morning," I said. "And I really should be going now." I glanced over at the grandfather clock that stood against the opposite wall. "I want to take a room at the hotel so I'm afraid I must give my leave." I rose from my chair and both Atherton's rose from their seats. Sibella continued to sip her coffee, apparently disinterested, at least that was what she hoped to convey.
"Oh, no, Adam," Mrs. Atherton said, "you must stay with us while you're here. I insist!"
"I don't care to put you out. The stage leaves quite early – I believe at 6:00 in the morning."
"Nonsense," Mr. Atherton said. "I would never let one of Ben's sons stay anywhere but here. We have more than enough room and hope that you will also stay for the party tomorrow night. Please, say you will."
I glanced at Sibella who now was fidgeting with her high collar as if she was overly warm.
"Sibella?" Mrs. Atherton said.
"Yes, mother?"
"Perhaps if you invited Adam…"
"But, of course. Won't you stay for the party, Mr. Cartwright? Another guest will prove no hardship, I assure you."
"With such a gracious invitation, how can I refuse." I made a half-hearted bow in Sibella's direction and then informed the Atherton's that I would accept their invitation to be their guest. They both seemed relieved and called for the butler, a man in his 60's, to take my valise upstairs. I asked for a tour of the grounds, mentioning how lovely they were, and Mr. Atherton jumped on the idea, taking me by the arm and leading me out the door. But before we left, I did beg my leave of Sibella who grandly nodded from the sofa. But my gut told me she wanted me to stay, if for nothing else than to proselytize about changing the role of women in society. I feared that if she did, I wouldn't be able to resist telling her that I liked nothing more than changing roles with a woman; let her be on top for a change and do all the work.
TBC