The Art of Love: Origins of Sinner's Grove

by A. B. Michaels

  “There you are,” Sandy said from the doorway. He’d brought his supplies, no doubt assuming she wanted to work together. And she did, but in a way he couldn’t even imagine.

  “Thank you for meeting me,” she said. “I have a proposition for you.”

  Sandy waggled his eyebrows in that silly way he had. “I’m all yours,” he joked.

  “I’m glad,” she replied, “because I need you to be.” She gestured to the couch often used by the models in the life drawing class. “Come, have a seat.”

  Puzzled, Sandy joined her. “What do you need, dear one?”

  It was time. “How would you like some company when you move to San Francisco?”

  Sandy’s expression was about what she’d expected it to be: incredulous. “What?”

  “I’m asking if I could come along with you to San Francisco.”

  Sandy moved closer and took her hand in his. “Darling, what is this all about?”

  Now for the difficult part. “Sandy, you know the situation I’m in. And you’re right, the only way I can secure a divorce to free George and me from this predicament is by proving adultery. I’m not about to find some stranger and cheat on my husband. But I could cheat on him with you, and help you out at the same time.”

  Sandy laughed sharply, but stopped when he saw she wasn’t joking. “Lia, what you’re asking is…is insane. No one will believe it.”

  Lia took his hands in hers and looked him straight in the eye. “No it isn’t insane, and people will believe it, if you will just hear me out.”

  Sandy took a deep breath. “All right.”

  “Your parents have lived with the whispers concerning your sexuality for long enough. You’re even moving away to spare them further hurt. I’m giving you a chance to squelch those rumors by pretending to be my lover. We’ll figure out how to make it happen so that no one would dare not to believe it. I will be able to get a divorce from George, freeing him to marry Em, and you will help your parents save face. We both win.”

  “But how do you win? Not George, but you? You’ll be a pariah. You…you’ll probably have to give up your son…”

  Lia fought hard against the lump in her throat and the tears that beckoned. “My son has a chance to be part of a family in which his mother and father adore each other, and him. What more could any mother want for her child? As for me, well, I’ll be able to start fresh, just like you. And it will finally be on my terms. Not my father’s, not George’s, but mine.”

  “It certainly would raise a lot of eyebrows on all those doubting Thomases to think of me as a Don Juan, wouldn’t it?” Sandy tried to suppress a grin but failed.

  “Listen, I know that your reputation and mine will be tarnished, but at least in your case, your supposed ‘sin’ will be a bit more acceptable in society’s eyes than the one they accuse you of now. And whatever the impact, we’ll weather it together, and leave it behind when we travel west.”

  “What you’re proposing is…extraordinary,” Sandy said. “I hate to bring up such a delicate subject, but how will you live? I doubt your husband will support you in this adventure.”

  “You’re right. In fact, this has to take him completely by surprise or else it won’t qualify as a truly ‘adulterous’ act.” She squared her shoulders. “I have some jewelry I can sell to help get me started—”

  “—and you can live with me,” Sandy interjected.

  “And I can live with you.” She smiled. “But I fully intend on making my way as an artist. Somehow. Remember what Miss Withrow said: I have ‘bold instincts’ and a ‘prodigious talent.’ I’ll knock on William Keith’s door and keep on knocking until he lets me in and gives me a job.”

  Sandy smiled briefly, but immediately turned serious. “You are indeed a prodigious talent, my friend. I have every faith that you will succeed.”

  “Oh!” Lia gulped, throwing her arms around her friend. “Thank you for believing in me.” She leaned back to look at him. “So does that mean we’re in business?”

  “Pull out your pen and paper,” he said, settling in. “We have some planning to do.”

  Four weeks later the stage had been set. Lia and Sandy made a point to be seen together around the borough of Manhattan, including the financial district where many of Richard Bennett’s and George Powell’s colleagues worked. They purposefully put on the kind of public display of affection that Lia’s mother-in-law had frowned upon that day in Child’s restaurant. Sandy moved out of his parents’ home, signed a month-to-month lease on a large apartment near Central Park and made arrangements for a similar apartment to be ready in San Francisco when the time was right.

  It was painful, but Lia spent as much time as possible away from home and Little Georgie, grateful that at least she had weaned him months before. Her feigned lack of interest in her son first earned puzzled looks, then frowns, and finally the silent treatment from her husband. Each night she counted down to the day she and Sandy had agreed on, and cried herself to sleep with the prayer, Please Lord, let this stop hurting soon.

  She hadn’t intended to let her sister in on her decision, but Emma was being courted seriously by Jonathan Brenner and if she didn’t make Em aware even indirectly of what was going on, her sister might foil all their plans by marrying the opportunist. She called on Em at her palatial home one Saturday afternoon, but it seemed her sister had questions of her own.

  “Lia, please tell me what is going on.”

  Lia’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

  Emma sat next to her on the divan in the front parlor, her slender hands twisting in her lap. Even in her simple day dress, Lia’s sister looked beautiful, yet an ethereal sadness cloaked her, muting her loveliness. In a strange way Lia felt reassured that the steps she was about to take were the right ones.

  “I…I’ve heard from more than one source that you are spending an excessive amount of time with your friend Sander de Kalb. Do you think that’s wise?”

  Good. It’s working. “Why? What do you think is unwise about it?”

  “Listen, I know the two of you are only friends, but it looks unseemly, don’t you think?”

  “How do you know we are simply friends, Em?”

  Em’s luminous blue eyes widened. “Surely you wouldn’t…you couldn’t betray George like that. He…he loves you.”

  Lia didn’t dignify that comment with a response. “Tell me,” she said instead, “how serious are you and Mr. Brenner?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Emma began to pluck lightly at her skirt. “Mr. Brenner is simply a friend, just like your Mr. de Kalb.”

  “I don’t think so. And I am asking you, Em. No, I’m begging you, not to let Mr. Brenner get too close.”

  Emma rose from the divan and clasped her hands. She sounded more stern than Lia had ever heard her. “I think you’re trying to change the topic. We were talking about your inappropriate behavior, not mine.”

  Lia arose to stand in front of her sister. How to explain? “The two behaviors are linked, you’ll see. But now I want to ask you something and I need you to be perfectly honest. Perfectly. Honest. Do you promise?”

  With a puzzled look on her face, Emma nodded. “Certainly. Yes, I promise.”

  “If something happened to me, would you love and take care of Little Georgie as if he were your own?”

  Em sounded incensed. “Of course I would! How could you even wonder about something like that?”

  Lia nodded and took Em’s hand. “And if I were gone, would you do the same for his father?”

  Emma stared at her in shock, as if Lia had suddenly peeled away her protective cloak and exposed not only her body, but her heart to the world.

  “The truth, Em. You promised.”

  Emma swallowed. “Then, yes…yes I would, in a heartbeat. But you knew that already.”

  “I needed to hear it from you, dear Em, that’s all.” Lia embraced her sister. “Whatever happens, you need to remember this conversation
, all right?”

  Emma took Lia’s face in her hands and stared into her eyes. “Now you speak the truth to me: are you thinking of harming yourself? Because if you did—”

  “No, Em…No. Never worry about that. I love you all so much. I would never leave you that way.”

  Emma looked at her a moment longer and finally dropped her hands. “All right, then.”

  Lia gathered her coat and turned to go. Emma saw her to the door and as Lia walked down the front steps, she called over her shoulder, “Remember, keep Mr. Brenner at bay. At all costs.”

  “Wait! Why? You never told me—”

  “Just remember what I said.” Lia waved her hand and hurried down the street.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Over the next several days, under the guise of carrying artwork to and from school, Lia moved her most important belongings to the apartment Sandy had rented. She packed clothing, art supplies, her jewelry, and most important, the items that would remind her of the one real treasure she was giving up. Every evening she sat and watched Little Georgie, sketching him at play and at rest, trying to memorize every part of the precious child she had brought into the world. His tiny, exquisitely formed little ears; his soft cheeks (which someday, she imagined, would grow angular like his father’s); his mouth shaped like a cupid’s bow, rooting quietly as he slept.

  She gave Polly and the housekeeper time away to visit their families and spent her last day at home with her son, sitting with him on the floor of the nursery as he built tall castles out of blocks and laughed delightedly when they fell. She held up the carved wooden cow and asked him what a cow says and he said “Moo.” The sheep? “Baa.” The horse? “Eee eee eee.”

  “That’s my smart little man,” she whispered, tears running unchecked down her face.

  “Mama,” he said, waddling over and patting the wetness of her cheeks.

  “Yes, my darling boy,” she whispered. “Mama loves you. Mama will always love you.”

  She put him to bed one more time and crooned his favorite lullaby. “Sleepyhead, close your eyes. Mother’s right here beside you. I’ll protect you from harm, you will wake in my…my…” she couldn’t go on. He lay on his back looking up at her and smiled and reached for her. She leaned down and hugged him one last time, and stayed with him until he fell asleep.

  You can do this you can do this you can do this, she chanted to keep herself in one piece. She filled her small suitcase, donned her coat, and went downstairs to confront George. He was working in the library. The light in the room was dim except for the lamp on his desk. It lent an intimacy to the space. It was quiet; only the tic, tic, tic of the Ormolu clock marred the silence.

  “George?” she called from the doorway.

  “Yes, come in,” he replied, still engrossed in the report he was reading.

  She checked the pendant watch he had given her on their first anniversary. Sandy would arrive to pick her up shortly; she had only to get through this last charade. She walked over to his desk.

  “George, look at me.”

  George looked up, a puzzled expression crossing his face as he saw that she was dressed to go out. He frowned. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m leaving you for someone else.”

  He leaned back in his chair, disbelieving. “What did you say?”

  “I said I’m leaving you for someone else.”

  “Lia, that’s not funny.”

  “It’s not meant to be.” She leaned over his desk. “Do you understand? I’m leaving this marriage and I’m committing adultery to do it. Do. You. Understand?” She drew the words out as she held his eyes.

  Comprehension cast a shadow over his features and he slowly shook his head. “No, Lia. No. You don’t have to do this.”

  She stood up straight and repeated the words she’d rehearsed many times. “I love someone else and I no longer love you. I’m moving in with my lover and I’m never coming back.”

  “Wait. Who—”

  “Sandy,” she said.

  George rolled his eyes and snorted. “Ah, yes. The sodomite.”

  Lia drilled him with her stare until he felt compelled to face her again. “Ask your mother and her friends about that…and thank you for the insult to one of the finest men I know. You are making this easier.”

  George stood up as if to overpower her. “I’ll fight you on this.”

  It was Lia’s turn to scoff. “Will you, George? Think long and hard about that. What will you gain? What will you lose?”

  “What about your son?” he asked, frustration lacing his tone. “Our son. You’re just going to abandon him?”

  You can do this you can do this you can do this. “My son will be loved,” she replied. “You talk to Emmaline about that.”

  “Em? What does Em know about this?”

  “Nothing. Only that she is a woman with so much to give who is ready to be loved…do you understand me, George?”

  He stared at her, not speaking, and she could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he processed all that she was saying, all that she implied. His own eyes welled with tears as he realized what she was doing for him, for them. He reached for her. “Lia—”

  She held out her arm to ward him off. “You must hate me until this is over, it is the only way,” she whispered. “Hate me to your parents, to your friends, to your lawyer, to everyone except Em and our son, and do not call Sandy a sodomite ever again. Do you understand me?” she repeated. She heard the near hysteria in her voice.

  His eyes clear with comprehension, he nodded. “What will you do?”

  “Lay low until the storm passes, then San Francisco, I think.” She smiled sadly. “So you won’t have to pay that invoice from the Institute after all.”

  “Lia?” Sandy stood in the doorway to the library, hat in hand. “I’m sorry. No one answered, so I let myself in. Are…are you ready to go?”

  Lia continued to look at George. After a moment she inclined her head and saw George echo her, ever so slightly. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again, smiling through her tears.

  “I will send you the address where your attorney can reach me,” she said. “Polly and Mrs. Rudd will be back tomorrow. If Little…Little Georgie wakes up—”

  “I know,” he assured her gently. “Sing him the lullaby.”

  “That’s right,” she said, her voice breaking. “Good night, George, and…and bless you.”

  Lia turned and took Sandy by the arm. They stepped into the cool of the evening and began walking down the street.

  Sandy patted her hand. “How did it go?”

  She sighed and put her head on his shoulder. Her voice hitched. “I think I know what it feels like to stab oneself in the heart.”

  “You are quite a woman, Amelia. If I were someone else I think I’d do anything to make you mine.”

  “You are just who I need you to be, dear friend. Let’s see how it all plays out.”

  “Yes, let’s,” he said as they continued on their way.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The ripe tomato hit Lia’s shoulder just as she reached the steps of the apartment she and Sandy now shared. It oozed down her arm, leaving a pink stain on the pale woolen coat she wore. She looked around to see who had thrown the offending fruit and saw a gaggle of stern-looking protesters collected across the street. Both men and women formed the group, dressed in somber-looking clothes and carrying homemade placards that espoused such slogans as “Lust is the Straightest Path to Hell,” “Fidelity Forever,” and “Temperance in All Things is Godly.”

  “Harlot!” One of the women cried.

  “Home wrecker!” a man shouted.

  Gritting her teeth, Lia ignored the taunts and let herself into the building. Thank goodness Sandy had rented a lovely flat which provided a respite from the furor created by her “adulterous” act.

  What was it about the state of people’s lives that they should worry so much about her mistakes and so little about their
own? Her mother-in-law, for instance, was no doubt behind the campaign to publically annihilate both Lia and Sandy’s reputations. Hadn’t the elder Mrs. Powell and her cohort seen Lia embracing her so-called lover right there in Child’s Restaurant? Of course in Sandy’s case, the gossip was all working to the good. The rumors about his “unnatural” tendencies had been replaced by conjecture about how his mysterious, Byronic beauty must have turned the head of a naive young mother—still further evidence of how destructive it was for women to venture outside the home for anything other than a trip to the dressmaker or a charitable visit to the local Children’s Home.

  Sandy was painting in the sun room at the rear of the apartment. He must have heard her come in. “Back here,” he called.

  “Oh, I like it,” Lia said, coming into the makeshift studio and looking over his shoulder. Sandy’s painting in progress depicted a young girl and boy warming their hands over a sewer grate on a cold wintry morning. Since leaving his parents’ home, her friend had abandoned traditional landscapes and still life in favor of grittier subjects, like the daily lives of Mulberry Street’s immigrant children. He and Lia had gone to that part of Manhattan several times and sketched the inhabitants as they went about their daily toil; they’d invariably found a warmer welcome there than they’d found since the story of Lia’s supposed infidelity had become public knowledge.

  “Do you?” he said, smiling. “I’m rather pleased with the way it’s turning out myself. Are you hungry? I was thinking of stopping for lunch.” At Lia’s nod he wiped off his paintbrush and put it in the cleaning jar. Drying his hands with a towel, he walked over to a small stack of letters and sifted through them, handing two to Lia.