IV. Boston

Adam left the billiard room and reluctantly entered the hall. During these last two and a half years in Boston he'd become quite adept at playing billiards, and as so often before he had made a little pocket money tonight. He wasn't a big gambler, but he found playing billiards was better than dancing. Not that Adam was opposed to dancing in general; oh, no, there was nothing like a good barn dance. But dancing at socials in Boston was different. The girls were different: they kept their distance, tried to avoid contact with their partners as much as possible—and how, please, was Adam supposed to lead a girl through a waltz when he wasn't allowed to get a good grip on her?

No, he didn't like that kind of dance very much, and he tried to avoid it as much as possible. Of course, attending a social with a dance, he was expected to do his share of dancing, but he always saw to it that he stayed away from it as much as politeness allowed.

Fiona was an exception. She was just as proper as all the other girls, but if he understood the language of her eyes correctly, she would have loved to close the distance between the two of them, to maybe allow him to feel how the ivory skin of her arm felt; and that alone made him want to dance more with her than was modest.

He sauntered to a table with refreshments, chose a fancy looking canapé, and while chewing on it searched for his golden girl. He found her easily: she was still standing in front of the sumptuously draped dark yellow curtain that clashed so gloriously with her pale pink dress, talking amiably to another girl in light blue. Her eyes flickered over the room from time to time, until they caught Adam's. Fiona blushed and looked down—only to look up again a second later and hold his gaze. And then she sent thatsmile to him, straight across the room and into his heart.

Oh, that smile. Adam remembered the first time he had seen it, at the Keats' house, where Etienne had taken him to a soiree. Fiona's mother had played the piano and Fiona had sung, sung with that wonderful soprano that had filled the room, somersaulting around pillars and lusters to the ceiling and back to the stunned audience. And then, when she had finished, and Adam had taken heart and gone to congratulate her on her bravura, she had awarded him with that smile.

They had talked long after that, longer than Fiona's ever-observant mother had liked, and consequently they had been separated. But every time Adam had asked to see Fiona again in the next weeks and months, they had been given more time to speak, somehow in correspondence with the distinctive change in the way Mrs. Keats eyed him.

Fiona was a well-read, highly educated girl. It was a pleasure to discuss Shakespeare's plays with her, Botticelli's pictures or Mozart's operas. Adam enjoyed spending time with her immensely; the evenings always seemed to be too short for all the books they wanted to talk about and all the songs they wanted to sing together, for all the just-being-together they wanted to share.

Fiona listened to him talking about college, about his studies and fellow students, and she even listened to what he wanted to share with her about home. She laughed about Joe's antics, empathised with Hoss' love for every living creature, and said she'd loved to meet him, when Adam spoke about Pa and how he had built his ranch out of nothing.

He had never met a girl like her: beautiful, lovable, kind, cultured. Perfect in so many ways.

And her smile, her smile... It left Adam breathless. Always, infallibly. It never ceased to capture his heart, mind, soul, everything, never ceased to evoke feelings in him, and to stir up...something.

He wasn't proud of that. A reputable girl like Fiona shouldn't be associated with...something, but Adam wasn't a saint, only a completely normal young man. Etienne, who at times was so perceptive that it was almost scary, suggested Madame Monique, but Adam dismissed the idea.

It wasn't beneath him to visit a brothel. In fact, before he had left for college, he had been to a place called Mrs. Jeffries the few times he was able to go to Carson without Pa, and it always had been a pleasurable experience. But here in Boston, it was different. His studies didn't leave him time to work and earn money. Never having attended a proper school, Adam soon had realised that he was behind his fellow students. He had to work hard to catch up with them, and once he was on schedule he couldn't let it go anymore—his hunger for knowledge being stronger even than his wish for financial independence, and so he lived on what his father and his grandfather gave him. He would never have considered spending the money that had been saved for his education on a lady of the evening. There were other ways to deal with his needs; maybe less satisfying—but at least his room at his grandfather's house had a lock.

Adam jangled the coins he had won earlier in his pocket. This money would go into the small wooden box in the first drawer of his desk at Grandpa's, just like all his winnings since the day he had met Fiona. This money was assigned for something special: a ring.

He rattled the coins once again. He had saved a not-too-small amount by now, with which he was sure he already could buy something not too fancy, but modestly precious. Something that wouldn't outshine Fiona's beauty but compliment it and—

"Ah oui, you are watching la belle de fête," a strong French accent woke him out of his musing. "Good. She deserves to be watched."

"Etienne, stop sneaking up on people like that," Adam said, poking his friend in the ribs. "And I'm not—"

"Oh, but you are! And who am I to blame you? If she'd looked at me like she looks at you, I wouldn't turn my eyes off her ever."

Etienne tried and failed to impersonate Fiona, giving Adam a more sleepy than dreamy look, and for that received another dig in the ribs.

He laughed good-naturedly and then leaned closer. "Are you going to ask her tonight?"

"What—?"

"Come on, Adam, don't deny you're contemplating to ask her."

"I don't have to deny anything."

"Adam..."

"Etienne?"

"Are you or aren't you?"

Adam felt the coins in his pocket. Was he or wasn't he? He looked over to Fiona, standing there, glancing at him time and again, waiting. Waiting. For him?

And suddenly the image of Fiona in that beautiful pink dress reminded him of a dream he'd had half a year ago. It had been a rainy afternoon, and Etienne (who else?) had lured a group of students into an obscure bar somewhere close to the harbour. They had drunk absinthe there, and Adam had had the most extraordinary dream in which he had been walking through the London Zoo and watching the animals. At some point he had come across a pond full of beautiful flamingoes, and when he had reached out for one of the pink flustered animals, it had backed away.

Would Fiona back away if Adam reached out for her?

Well, I won't know if I don't try.

He briefly turned back to Etienne and winked before he made his way across the room.

The whispered, "Bonne chance!" nearly didn't carry to him.

Adam was half way to Fiona when suddenly another picture from that absinthe dream flashed through his mind: a tall graceful lioness, with golden fur and sparkling green eyes, who stood in front of him and hissed dangerously.

He shook his head to get clear of the image. Surely, Fiona wasn't a lioness or anything even remotely dangerous at all.

And then he was there, and Fiona smiled at him, and he took her hand and led her out of the room and onto the deserted patio.

ooOoo