THREE

The grounds were quite impressive, with a stable and attached corral that held two matched bays, a long-legged thoroughbred and a few other riding horses. There was also a wide buggy shed with two different buggies.

"That's Sibella's horse, Mr. Dandy. Cost me quite a pretty penny and she barely rides anymore." Mr. Atherton said. "Now she walks whenever she can – talks about exercise being good for the mind as well as the body."

I grinned thinking about Sibella's body; it wasn't as if I could help myself or even cared to. "Your daughter does have many progressive ideas."

"You mean stupid ideas."

"Not necessarily," I added. "The world is changing quickly. But if Sibella only knew how much luckier she is than women in other countries who are basically enslaved just for being female, well, she might rethink many of her ideas."

"All our fault for having her educated. Had we known that she would come home from school in France with all these opinions about marriage and the vote for women, well, we would have sent her to a convent school. Sibella has actually stated that the wife in a marriage is no better than a prostitute, trading her body for financial support."

I chuckled imagining how delighted Sibella must have been to have shocked everyone. I felt she was more interested in that than any sincerity of purported beliefs.

"Her poor mother was highly embarrassed – humiliated, actually. We had friends for dinner, another couple, and they almost choked on their food! They left as soon as they could, declining dessert and I'm afraid they told everyone about Sibella's blasphemy because I heard about it for months. Cigar?"

Mr. Atherton pulled out a silver cigar case and held it open. I thanked him and took one. He proffered a match and I lit mine while he did his. I puffed and felt the warmth through my veins – it was obviously a fine cigar.

"Very nice," I said, spinning it slightly between my fingers. The fragrant smoke rose up.

"They're Figurado cigars. I have them special ordered from New York; they're imported. But I am relegated to smoking them either outside, such as now, or in the privacy of my office and only if I open a window; my wife says the smell stays in her drapes and furniture and although she may not look it, Mrs. Atherton is quite the tyrant! I envy your father, living in a house full of men."

I laughed. "Yes, there is a certain freedom in not having a woman in the house. We can belch, fart and scratch our balls without offending anyone."

Now Mr. Atherton laughed. I found I liked him and we spent the next hour strolling around the property, smoking, and he told me about my father, how they had served together and how much he liked and admired him.

"Your father is one of the finest men I've known – and I mean that in all sincerity. We had struck up our friendship again about a year ago through letters. Of course, he invited us to visit the Ponderosa but with Sibella, well, we didn't want to leave her here alone – God knows what we'd find when we returned – and taking her along to a house with three young men, well…" He cleared his throat. "But I'm glad you've stopped by, Adam. Very glad."

My suspicions again arose. I wondered if he and my father had concocted a plot to marry Sibella off to me.

We reentered the house through the back room which was a solarium. Ferns, a grand rubber tree, and various other exotic blooming plants sat about in huge pots along with light furniture – what's called rattan – and the furniture was covered with flowered cushions. The room reminded me of an exotic island getaway and I admired the architectural aspects of the room, especially the design of the floor to ceiling windows. On a cold, winter day, one could bask in the warmth of the sun through the domed, paneled, glass ceiling and on a warm day such as that day, the wall of windows could be opened to provide a nice cross-breeze. I again, complimented him on his house and then went to my room, seeing no trace of Sibella. I took a short nap, woke just as it was becoming dark, and within an hour, dinner was served, giving me just enough time to put a fresh shirt on under my dress jacket.

It seemed there was another guest for dinner as well - Alan Pembroke, the Alan who hand lunched with Sibella. Mr. Atherton introduced us and as we shook hands, Mrs. Atherton chimed in, "Alan is Sibella's beau." She seemed pleased at the prospect, smiling.

"Oh," I said. He seemed an affable young man, about Joe's age, slender and slightly effeminate in looks and manner, with pale cheeks, almost white-blond hair that fell into his large, dark, soulful eyes. His hands were also slim and elegant and it was obvious he did no physical labor. He was impeccably dressed. "So, you're Sibella's eager swain and she's your fair maid," I said, smiling.

"What? No…I mean, yes. I suppose one could say…" Alan Pembroke seemed flustered and he pulled his hand from me and then held it with the other as if it were now a prized possession. He looked at me as if he was suddenly infatuated.

I had seen that look before. In college, there was an underclassman, Louis, who followed me about one semester, complimenting me on my brilliance, and asking me to his room to discuss Greek poetry – he claimed I had greater insight than anyone else. So, one evening, out of curiosity, I took him up on his invitation and once in his room, he served coffee and a tin of shortbread biscuits. Then he brought out a volume of Greek poetry and raised the ancient ideal of men's beauty as the only measure of true beauty – and that love between men was the only true love. "Why look at Alexander, the man who conquered the whole world," I remember him saying, his eyes glowing with excitement. "And who did he love more than that conquered world but his friend, Hephaestion, 'two souls in one body,' as Aristotle described them. And that magnificent warrior, Alexander, loved both men and women, saw beauty in both but loved men best. Oh, Adam, let me be your eromenos!" Louis fell at my feet, calling me his "Adonis," his "Alexander," and said that his body was mine to use as I pleased. I was a bit taken aback. And I was tempted – I could imagine the feel of his hot lips around my length and his hands stroking me, the pressure of his tongue driving me to release – but it wouldn't have been fair to him as I had no particular affection for him. Perhaps another place or another time but not then, so I rose and explained that although I was flattered, I could not accept his offer for a friendship of that type. I left his room and the next day, he was gone, had left school and never returned.

I sensed that Alan Pembroke may also be so inclined. But it was possible I was wrong.

"Oh, mother, Sibella said, walking into the room, "why do you say such silly things? Beau – as if that word was even employed anymore! Beau!" Sibella practically spat the word. "Alan is a friend. People still think that any female not married by 16 is an old maid and that every man she is with is a prospective spouse. All women are though of as nothing more than a uterus for producing children! Marriage is an old, outdated convention and I assure you, mother, that I have greater ambitions than that."

"Sibella! Please. We have guests. Can't you please refrain from talking like that for one night? Now let's do sit down and forget such foolishness."

"If you insist mother but that means you mustn't say anything foolish either." She smiled, pleased with herself.

Sibella was dressed for dinner far differently than that afternoon. Her hair was piled up and held with elegant tortoiseshell combs that almost matched her hair and her apple green dress was cut low. And she wore the jade necklace. I smiled when I saw her; I knew she had carefully chosen her wardrobe to showcase the necklace – and her rounded bosom.

I held out Sibella's chair since Pembroke seemed too entranced to do so; he watched me with embarrassing admiration only I didn't know which of us should be embarrassed. Nevertheless, as I bent over Sibella's chair, assisting her, I murmured how lovely the jade looked against her bare skin. She glanced up at me from under her dark lashes but said nothing even though I'm certain she noticed my gaze was focused more on her cleavage. But then, that may have been what she had planned and I wondered if I was rife for manipulation. After all, Sibella was lovely and surprisingly desirable; her perfume was one of musk mixed with white flowers. It made me think of the moist, musky cleft between her legs and what she would taste like on my tongue. She made my mouth water.

Through dinner, I noticed Sibella would glance across the table at me but that when I returned her gaze, she would look away. But I was too old for games of flirtation and coy behavior. And surprisingly, Sibella said little at dinner.

Mr. Atherton explained to Alan that I was from Nevada and had been educated as an architect back east. Alan became animated – no longer the shy, shrinking, young "beau", and asked me questions about what I had studied in college, about my year in Europe studying the cathedrals and bridges, and my visits to museums and the masterpieces I had seen. He hung on my every word and said that he had been unable to visit Europe due to the war but so wanted to go and that listening to me was like visiting them himself.

Sibella seemed bored that she was no longer the center of attention. And when Mr. Atherton mentioned that I had been in the Union Army during the war, Alan wanted me to talk about it.

"Oh, please, Adam," Alan begged, "what is it like to be at war? I was too…my father wouldn't allow me to join but I so wanted to! I threatened to run off and join the army – I was such a supporter of Lincoln and his ideals. What a tragedy he was murdered – assassinated. And by John Wilkes, Edwin Booth's brother. Such a scandal. But what is war like?"

"I don't care to discuss it – it's not really dinner conversation." How could I talk about the filth of battlefields, the smell of unwashed bodies and rotting corpses, not just of men who couldn't be buried but of mules and horses that decayed in the sun? I couldn't even try to convey the fear that turns a man's bowels to water, the horror of seeing men's guts blown apart and finding a single arm lying in the mud, ripped from an unknown body.

"You must have been a hero, though," Alan said, his eyes glittering.

"No, no hero. I came out alive."

A pall fell and I realized that I had caused it with my comment, perhaps reminding them of men - friends or sons of friends who hadn't returned home. And it was Sibella who changed the mood by asking if I believed in free love. I laughed. I had to – no other reaction was possible except for me to say that I had been with enough whores to know there was no such thing as free love. I was also sure Sibella, was talking about something of which she knew nothing.

I would have to challenge her on her idea of "free love" but this wasn't the time or the place. Her father asked her to please refrain from such talk in his house; he would not have it. And then, since dinner was over with such a pronouncement, he and I retired to his office for cigars and brandy, leaving Alan behind.

TBC