EIGHT

The trip home on the stage was uneventful. Another couple, about 10 years older than I, sat opposite us and Sibella chatted politely with the woman about things that didn't interest me in the least – and I'm surprised they interested her as it varied from recipes to fashions to the weather. And as I said, Sibella was polite – no statements made for shock value, no proselytizing about women's rights and the "soul-suffocating" institution of marriage. The husband was basically silent except when introduced, and I spent most of my time napping, or pretending to nap to avoid conversation, with my hat tilted down over my eyes. But I did hear the woman say they were going to Carson City and then to Elko; he had a job waiting in a bank. Traveling also was a man of indeterminate age with a long, unkempt beard that he stroked occasionally. He wore an old, beat-up hat and a gray corduroy trail coat with frayed seams and holes worn in the elbows. And he stank. The only person he talked to was himself.

We stopped at two waystations, one for dinner, and one for a pre-dawn breakfast of burned biscuits, undercooked fried potatoes and greasy sausage. Sibella refused to eat as did the other woman who wrinkled her nose in distaste. But Sibella did manage to get down some scorched coffee sweetened with sorghum. The station master, a tall, thin, anemic man, spat tobacco juice on the floor as he walked around the table refilling the coffee mugs. Sibella declined any more coffee by placing her palm over the mug.

"Sorry 'bout the food, ma'am. Know it ain't the best. My wife's been ill. That coughin' you hear is her in the back bedroom. Been havin' to do all the cookin' myself."

"Oh. I'm so sorry to hear about your wife. I hope she's better soon." Sibella offered her sympathy with a sad smile, and it appeared, at least to me, to be sincere. Maybe getting her away from her parents made her less abrasive and antagonistic.

"Oh, she won't be; she's dyin'. Had the doc out here two days ago and that's what he said. I'm just waitin' for it to happen. Got the grave dug already and the cross made."

Sibella looked at me, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open. I just shrugged and with the edge of a "community" knife we all took turns sharing, scrapped the burned bottom of another biscuit. The food was bad but I was hungry and since there had been times in my past when both sides of my stomach met, I'd known near-starvation; I knew better than to decline food. And I wasn't particularly choosy as we wouldn't arrive in Virginia City for another seven or eight hours.

But after we had been on the road again for a few minutes, Sibella said to me, "Did you hear what that man said, Adam? His wife is dying and he doesn't care."

"You don't know he doesn't care," I replied. I didn't want to have a conversation; I never like to talk on public conveyances.

"Yes, I do - by what he said. He's just waiting for her to die."

"What else can he do but wait? What do you expect him to do? Hurry her along?"

"No, of course not, that's not what I meant at all. But is that any way to talk about the woman you love? He already has the grave dug."

"What does it matter, Sibella, if he dug the grave early or dug it after she died; she'd still need the grave and he'd still have to dig it. And what business is it of ours anyway?"

"It's just that it proves what I said about marriage, about how it's an outdated concept. People are married for years and don't love each other. Then feel nothing when their spouse dies. He was so cold the way he talked about her – as if he didn't care at all."

"Don't judge people so quickly. You have no idea what he was feeling." Then I slouched and pulled my hat down to nap. I was truly tired. Sibella had slept through the night leaning against me with my arm about her. It hadn't been unpleasant though and as we moved through the darkness, I often looked down at her face, so very beautiful in repose, and wondered what went on in her head, what she really thought of me and the turn of events. But then I wasn't sure what I really thought.

I always try to be honest with myself. Therefore, I acknowledge my many faults. I tend to be selfish about sharing my feelings, but exactly how I felt about Sibella and our marriage of convenience, I wasn't sure myself because they changed from hour to hour. Gazing down at her, it struck me that I was actually married. I don't mean to sound foolish – I knew I was married – but it hadn't sunk it that this lovely girl – I had difficulty seeing Sibella as a woman – was my wife and if I chose to bed her, I could. It was my right as her husband. Legally, her body was mine. But did I love her?

I remember my father once telling me when I was morose over a girl who had thrown me over, that love is difficult to define and even harder to recognize. I remember him saying, "When we're young – and even not so young - oftentimes we think we're in love and we're not really – it's just what's called…physical attraction. But that type of 'love' doesn't last; people age and change and each day, the person you love changes just as you do. What you might find physically attractive now, in a year or two – won't matter. And trust me, Adam you'll get over Janie. It's more your pride that's been hurt than anything else." At the time, his advice meant nothing to me. I just wanted Janie Watson to take me back and let me kiss her while on her family's porch swing. I wasn't even concerned with the next week so much as the next day, or whether or not I would still yearn for Janie after I had my way; I just wanted her to prefer me to Carl Reagan who was squiring her about – and more than likely kissing her and probably doing even more - knowing Carl like I did. But as I became older, I thought back on that talk and finally saw the truth in what my father said.

But that still didn't explain my agreeing to marry Sibella – not to myself. It would take time for me to work through my motives and desires, and I disliked dredging up feelings and examining them – I never liked what I saw.

A little before dusk, we finally pulled into the Virginia City depot and my father was waiting. Back in Sacramento City, after buying our tickets and checking the arrival time, I'd sent him a brief wire letting him know I was bringing a "guest" home. That the guest was his new daughter-in-law, I decided should be revealed face to face.

I climbed out and shook my father's hand.

"Glad you're home, son."

"Glad to be home."

I turned to help Sibella step down onto the platform. She looked up from under her hat and politely put out her gloved hand.

"Hello, Mr. Cartwright. My father's always talked so highly of you that I'm glad to finally meet you."

I stood alongside them and suppressed a smile while waiting for Sibella's luggage; her mother was having the rest of her things sent by freight.

"Miss Sibella Atherton! I should have known! You do favor your father a about the eyes! What a joy to have you here. Can you stay for a good, long visit?"

"Well…yes, I mean…." Sibella looked up at me. "You didn't tell him? I thought you said you wired him."

"Tell me what?" The smile left my father's face. "Adam, what haven't you told me? Was something wrong with the gift? Is someone ill?"

"No, no, Mr. Cartwright! The jade necklace is lovely and I would have written to let you know how much I treasure it, but I'm here before the note could have been. It's about Adam and me…" Her voice drifted off and she turned her eyes on me again. "Adam?"

"Well, Pa, Sibella and I are married." The thud of one of Sibella's trunks hitting the planks of the sidewalk drew my attention. I turned toward it and my father grabbed my arm.

"Adam , if you're…if this is your idea of a joke… ."

"Not a joke, Pa. We were married yesterday morning. Say hello to your daughter-in-law. I need to load her trunks into the buggy." The second trunk and my valise were noisily dropped onto the sidewalk.

Sibella blushed; apparently, she was embarrassed by the situation, but I didn't see any reason why she should be. We were married and all was legal.

My father, for once, lost his equanimity, seemed unsure what to do or say, but finally, his intrinsic nobility took over and he smiled and taking one of Sibella's small hands in both of his large ones, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Welcome to the family, my dear. You've made me a very happy man."

TBC