by Jane Peart
Eventually they came to a clearing where a meandering stream trickled over brown, sun-flecked rocks. Here Rex suggested they stop for a while to let their horses drink and take a rest after the arduous climb.
He took out a suede-sheathed flask of water from his saddlebags, poured some into a small silver cup, and handed it to Addie to drink. The water was cool and refreshing to her dry mouth and throat. They didn't talk, but Addie did not feel awkward about it. It just seemed natural that they both quietly enjoyed the short rest in the shady glen.
After a while they remounted and started climbing the narrow, rocky trail hollowed out by thousands of horseback travelers before them. Gradually it widened and they rode side by side. They passed the stagecoach station and a tavern, and began a steeper climb into the hills.
"It isn't much farther now to where the Bairds are staying."
"Tell me a little about these friends of yours. I accepted your invitation to visit them without receiving a real invitation from them. I do hope they're expecting us? Or at least that they know you're bringing me?"
"Of course, you're invited. When I saw Rob he said come any time. I rode up here the other day to tell them about you . . . well, that we would both be coming."
By the puzzled look on Rex's face, Addie realized he considered her question absurd, as if the protocol and social amenities she had been brought up to believe necessary were unimportant in the West. There was a kind of openhanded, openhearted, open-door generosity of spirit that did not stand on ceremony.
"Well, what do you want to know about them . . . the Bairds?"
"Oh, just... things . . . so I can get more of an idea what to expect."
Rex chuckled softly. "There's really no way to explain Rob. He's unique, like no one I've ever met before or after. We worked on the same newspaper in Monterey; that's where I met Nan too. She and her family were staying there, and Rob had just arrived from Scotland. Did I mention he's a Scotsman?"
Addie shook her head. "And what did he come to California for?"
"To find Nan. To persuade her to marry him." Another pause. "You see they met in France, at some artists' colony where Nan was spending the winter. They fell in love there and ..." Rex paused again, then said, "Actually, they are on their honeymoon—"
Addie checked her horse, turned slightly in her saddle, looking at Rex. "On their honeymoon?" Addie gasped. "Then, should we be visiting them like this? I mean, aren't honeymoons supposed to be rather private affairs?"
"Well, her son is with them," Rex answered matter-of-factly, keeping his eyes steadily upon her, watching her reaction.
"Her son?"
"Yes, he's a capital little fellow—about eleven."
"But, Rex ..." Addie frowned as though puzzled. "Oh, I see, she's a widow."
"Not exactly. She divorced her husband to marry Rob."
This time Addie could not conceal her astonishment. She gave a sharp pull on Gracia's reins, twisted around in her saddle to face Rex.
"Divorced! Why didn't you tell me?"
"Would it have made a difference?"
Addie thought a full minute. In her experience divorce was the kind of thing never spoken of, or if it was, in whispers. There was always a sense of shame or scandal about it. A tragedy for the woman even if she were not at fault. Unjust, unfair as that seemed, that's just the way it was. A divorced woman was not even received in the society in which Addie had grown up, much less visited and on her second honeymoon!
"Answer me, Addie, what difference does it make?" Rex asked. "The Bairds are the same people I told you about. Wonderful human beings. That hasn't changed. Does it make a difference to you?"
Addie could not think of anything to say. She felt troubled. She had never been faced with this situation before.
"What is it, Addie? Don't tell me you have some kind of bias against my friends without even meeting them?" Rex chided gently. "Weren't you telling me—just the other day—that you thought in order to mature one had to grow out of narrow ways of thinking, overcome built-in prejudice, presuppositions about people, and look at each person with an open mind?"
Addie felt her face get warm. "I hate having my own words quoted back to me."
"Well?" Rex raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that what you said? Or don't you really believe what you said?"
"Of course," she snapped. "I only meant—well, I guess I was surprised."
"Come on, Addie, don't tell me I've been mistaken in you."
She hated explaining what seemed too obvious. Surely Rex must know that back east, people took an entirely different view of divorce. But Rex's searching gaze was relentless and seemed to demand an answer. She looked down at her leather-gloved hands, twisting the reins, before she began speaking in a low voice: "You have to admit divorce isn't very common, and it isn't considered—that is, not in most places—acceptable."
"All marriages may not be made in heaven, Addie," Rex said quietly. "I think if you knew the circumstances, you'd understand." He waited a few seconds, then said, "If you feel the least bit uncomfortable, Addie ..." He let the implication dangle.
The very air seemed still. It was suddenly so quiet between them that the buzz of insects in the tall grass and the wind brushing through the evergreens on the hillside even sounded loud.
"No. Of course not. Let's go on."
Addie picked up her reins again, flicking them against the mare's neck and they started up the path again. They rode on a little further in silence until Rex broke it. "You won't be sorry you came, Addie, I know, when you meet them. Rob is a whimsical, warm, generous fellow and Nan—she's different, very creative, vivacious—well, I know you'll like them." Rex reached over placed his hand over hers, saying softly, "I wanted them to meet you, Addie—I wouldn't have put you in any kind of embarrassing situation if I hadn't been sure you'd be great friends."
She turned and met his intent gaze, struck by how important this was to Rex. In that moment, she also knew it was important to whatever relationship they were destined to have. It only took a second more for her to realize that made it important to her.
A little farther on the trail Rex turned in his saddle and pointed down the hill to a clearing where Addie could see a weathered shed, hardly more than a lean-to. "Here we are."
"That's it?" she gasped. "That's where they're staying?"
Rex grinned, "I told you they are an unusual couple, didn't I? Come on."
The "honeymoon cottage" convinced her the situation she was coming into was stranger than she could have imagined. What kind of woman would agree to spending her honeymoon in such rugged accommodations?
The horses made their way down the precipitous path; the rolling stones under their hooves made it a jolting downward trek. Addie leaned back in her saddle, holding her breath. Before they reached the bottom they heard the sound of a dog barking. When they came in sight of a slant-roofed, dilapidated gray-frame building, a rusty, scruffy-coated dog, looking like a cross between a spaniel and setter, was out on the platform loudly announcing their arrival. Almost at the same moment a man's figure—so tall and thin he looked almost like a shadow against the sunlight—stepped out from the door of what looked like an abandoned miner's shack.
He waved both hands like a windmill and bounded down off the ledge toward them, scrambling down the pebbly path, sliding and slipping as he came. He hailed Rex with a shouted, "Hello, old fellow!"
Rex dismounted. In a few long strides he clasped Rob Baird's outstretched hand and shook it heartily. Their greeting was that of two long-lost brothers. After a few slaps on the shoulders and much laughter, Rex came back over to Addie, took hold of her horse's bridle, and held up his hand to help her down.
"Addie, I want you to meet one of my best friends, Robert Baird. Rob, Miss Adelaide Pride."
Baird made a courtly bow. "Miss Pride, delighted! Welcome to our domain." He raised his head, rolling his eyes mischievously. "Now come to meet the queen of all you survey, my gypsy wife." He gestured to the door of the shack
where a small, stocky woman, in an ankle-length denim skirt and striped shirtwaist, stood hands on hips, observing them.
"Hello!" she called. "Glad you could make it. Couldn't have asked for a better day."
The three of them walked toward the shack and Addie got a better look at Rob Baird's bride.
Nan Baird had a strong, interesting face framed by masses of curly dark hair done up quite untidily and tied with a rather frazzled ribbon. Her complexion was tawny, her arms, under the rolled-up sleeves of her blouse, sunburned. She had a pert nose and laughing brown eyes. Her smile was spontaneous and genuinely friendly. But it was her eyes that gave her face a special beauty; their warm brown pierced you with their genuine interest and depth.
"Been picking berries," she told them as they came up to the makeshift shelter, wiggling her blue-stained fingers as if to prove it. "But look what bounty!" she declared, holding up a bucket filled to the brim with glistening blue-black berries.
Rob was all Rex had described: tall, lanky, thin-to-gauntness. His lean, high-cheekboned face was pale in contrast to his wife's tan, and Addie remembered Rex saying he had recently been ill. He wore his hair long, curling around his scrawny neck, and his drooping mustache was scraggly. But in spite of his spectral appearance, his handshake was firm, his voice strong and rich with a Scottish accent.
Lowell, the boy, was a fine-looking, sturdy child with tousled maple-colored hair, sun-streaked from the days in the glorious sun of the hills. He was outgoing without being cheeky. He had beautiful manners, which made Addie concede that even though his mother and new father might live in an unorthodox way, he was as well-behaved and attractive a child as many a parlor mother's pride.
Addie soon saw the truth of what Rex had told her about the Bairds. They obviously adored each other. They were totally unself-conscious about displaying their affection. It wasn't embarrassing to others because it was so natural. Rob's running dialogue with Rex was frequently punctuated with questions to Nan. When he needed confirmation of a date of an event or replenishment of his faulty memory of a name or a place, he'd ask Nan, "Was it not, love?" or "Correct me if I'm wrong, darlin' mine." He always listened intently to any comment she made, and his remarks were sprinkled with direct address to her as "gypsy," evidently an endearing nickname prompted by her Romany looks.
Addie had never before been exposed to such open and easy communication between married people. Her own parents, whom she was sure dearly loved one another, used formal terms of address with each other as did most of her adult relatives. Her mother called her father "Mr. Pride," and her father always called her by the name he used during courtship, "Miss Lovina." It had never seemed odd to Addie. But now, seeing the Bairds made her a bit wistful, a bit envious and longing to know that same kind of sweet intimacy someday herself.
When Rob announced he was famished, Nan immediately declared it was time to eat. His eyes followed her as she moved around briskly, setting up a dining table by placing a wide wooden plank across two large flat stones.
Rex unpacked the wicker baskets he had brought on his horse, two bottles of Lyon's Court best vintage, a half ham, cheese, oranges. Nan produced a loaf of bread she had miraculously managed to bake on their homemade grill oven, and happily declared it all "a feast fit for a king—or a poet." She looked fondly at her husband.
From bits and pieces dropped casually as the three "talked shop," Addie found out that Rob was widely published in Britain, his articles printed in the prestigious periodical Cornhill. Although Rob was self-effacing, Nan would not let him get away with false modesty. Apparently Nan thought her husband a brilliant writer.
The conversation was as sparkling as the wine Rex had brought, bright with literary references, plays on words, teasing banter in which Addie surprised herself by joining in, even making some quips herself or retorting to some playful jest or conundrum posed by Rob. He seemed to have an endless supply of stories and kept them spellbound with hilarious incidents of his many traveling adventures. He had come across the country on an emigrant train that should have been the death of such an emaciated physical specimen as he. But it was his indomitable spirit and outrageous sense of humor that had not only kept him alive but alert to the characters who had shared his car, to all the nuances involved in such a journey.
"As a matter of fact, I've just about completed the first draft for a book on the subject!" he laughed. "It should provide me with enough cash so I never have to use that particular mode of transportation again!"
Nan brought out a delicious cobbler that she had also whipped up while Rob was showing Addie and Rex their "kingdom."
There was such a holiday atmosphere about the day that Addie soon fell under the spell of her two unusual hosts and found herself relaxing in a way that was new to her. In fact, perhaps, for the first time since she had come to California, she felt completely carefree.
"Now, both Lowell and Rob must take a siesta," Nan declared as she started gathering up the remains of their picnic. When both the gentlemen named began to protest, Nan said firmly, "No arguments!" Her tone was severe. With hands on her hips she regarded them both. "Rob, you know you're here to recover your health, and Lowell, if you want to stay up late by our campfire and hear the rest of the story Rob started last night . . . well, you know what you must do!"
Rob threw out both thin hands in a helpless gesture, saying to Addie and Rex, "You see who rules with an iron hand?" He unfolded his lanky frame and pointed up the hill. "Rex, if you want Miss Pride to see the most beautiful view in the world just take her up a ways; there's a peak—not a difficult climb, my dear—," he said to Addie, "but well worth the trouble."
Rex looked askance at Addie who nodded. "Yes, I'd like that, but first I'm going to help Nan."
Nan did not turn down the offer but said over her shoulder to the men, "It won't take long."
Addie followed Nan down a little path to a creek where Nan bunched up her skirts, stooped down, and began expertly scrubbing the few tin plates with sand, then rinsing them in the water that rushed and gurgled over rocks. She cast a look in Addie's direction, then went back to her chore saying, "So what do you think of us, Miss Pride? I suspect a motley crew?"
"Not at all. A happy band."
"I suppose most folks would think we were a bit daft, as the Scots say. But it's done Rob a world of good to be up here in all this clean, pure air, the sunshine." She sat back on her heels and faced Addie. "You know they've given Rob only a year to live?"
"Oh, no! I'm sorry."
"Of course, I'm not going to let him die," Nan said fiercely. "You know people told me I was a fool to marry him. That I'd be a widow before six months. He was that sick when he got to California," she sighed. "But I knew if I'd marry him, he would live. And what choice did I have? I loved him."
Addie said nothing. She had been an eyewitness to the evidence of such love.
Nan placed her hands on her back arching it. "How much has Rex told you about us?"
"Not too much, except that he's very fond of you both."
"Yes, Rex is one of the staunch ones. You can depend on Rex." She gave Addie a long look. "I was married before, you see, to a philanderer, a gambler. Nothing worse than not being able to trust someone. We were separated when I met Rob. I'd taken my children and gone to Europe. I'm an artist and we went to the south of France. I thought our love was impossible, so I returned to America, tried to make my marriage work again. But it was no use. Even the Bible says adultery is a cause for divorce, you know. I left him again and moved to Monterey. Then Rob wrote that he was coming." Nan started piling up the plates. "He was in real bad shape after the horrible trip. I nursed him back, but the doctors . . . well, what do doctors know, when it comes to that?
"Anyway, my husband agreed to give me my freedom. But I would have to file for the decree myself. Desertion was easy enough to prove. I had to sell a painting to pay the lawyer who got my divorce—one of my favorite ones too," she laughed. "But it was worth it. You can see what
a prize I got. And he's going to get well, really well. We're going to find the perfect year-round climate for his health, and we'll—as they say—live happily ever after."
She smiled confidently then got to her feet. "Come on, let's go. These are finished, and I have to go round up my boys, see they follow my orders. And you and Rex want to go up the mountain."
Rob and Rex were talking in quiet voices when the women came back to the shack.
"Ready?" Rex asked, handing Addie her straw hat.
"Here, you'll be thirsty when you reach the top," Nan said and tossed them each an orange.
Tucking the orange in the pocket of her jacket, Addie followed as Rex led the way out of the small enclosed campground over the rubble of stones and onto a winding upward path.
It was a quiet, still afternoon, the sun warm on their backs as Addie and Rex climbed slowly up to a hillside above the "mountain castle," stopping every so often to look down on that little settlement. At the top was a lovely plateau. Large rocks bounded a cleared space surrounded by dwarf manzanita and madrone. In the cracks and crevices of the heaped-up rocks, hardy wildflowers struggled to bloom, adding unexpected color and scent to the unusual beauty.
Addie sighed a peaceful sort of sigh. She had never felt so tranquil in all the time she had been in California. Shielding her eyes with her hand she looked out over the ledge and saw, as Rob had predicted, a magnificent view of the entire valley. She glanced over at Rex who was leaning his back against a boulder; his eyes were squinted, almost closed. She wondered if he were drowsing.
Addie turned back to the view, unaware that under his half-shut eyelids Rex was observing her, finding her profile much more enchanting to contemplate than the view.
Rex watched as Addie took the orange from her pocket, turned it over in her palm once or twice, then began to peel it. Her broad-brimmed hat had fallen back, hanging by its ribbon around her neck and the sunlight sent sparkles through her dark hair.
In that moment he realized he had fallen in love with her, with this lovely woman who had appeared in his life, out of some dream, here in Calistoga, where he had not wanted to return. "God works in mysterious ways" passed through his mind like a confirmation.