The Art of Love: Origins of Sinner's Grove

by A. B. Michaels

  “Is there anything finer than a warm sourdough roll spread with butter?” he remarked.

  Lia grinned between bites. “Not that I know of.” Gus was tickled to see she was enjoying the meal every bit as much as he was.

  “So,” he ventured. “I have to ask the question. Why is someone like you not married to some adoring husband and herding a pack of children by now?”

  If he thought Lia’s attitude changed when the subject of her father came up, that was nothing compared to her reaction to his latest question. A clam came to mind.

  She put her fork down. “I might ask you the same thing,” she said calmly. “After all, you are a few years older than I am, and it’s apparent from what one reads in the paper that you enjoy the opposite sex.”

  So, two steps forward and three steps back. A certain amount of honesty was called for here. Not complete, maybe, but she deserved to know at least some of it. “You might ask, and I would tell you that…I used to have a wife and daughter. She, my wife, couldn’t handle life in the North. And so…we’re no longer together.”

  Lia’s eyes softened. “You have a daughter?”

  He nodded, twirling the remaining wine in his glass, fighting the unexpected surge of emotion. “Her name is Annabelle,” he said quietly. “She’ll be eight years old this coming May.”

  “Oh. How often do you get to see her?”

  “I don’t,” he replied in a tone that didn’t invite a response. He paused and looked directly at her. “As I said, why is someone like you not married?”

  It was Lia’s turn to pause. Finally she said in a neutral tone, “I too was married and I have a son. He’ll be six this April.”

  “I take it he doesn’t live with you?”

  Lia fiddled with her napkin. He could see liquid pooling in her beautiful eyes. She shook her head. “Under the circumstances it wasn’t possible.”

  She continued to look down and Gus leaned over to lift her chin so that she had to meet his gaze. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?” he asked with a crooked smile. He used his thumb to wipe away one of her escaping tears.

  She smiled back at him and for a moment they were in perfect harmony.

  The waiter returned to replace their lunch plates with a dessert of lemon tart topped with whipped cream. He poured them each a cup of coffee, placed the carafe on the table, and left the room.

  “So,” she said after she’d gotten herself under control. “You mentioned a commission.”

  “That I did. I have a house, you see.”

  “I heard. Will called it ‘a monster.’”

  “He did, did he? Well, he’s right. I bought it…well it’s a long story why I bought it, but now that I have it, for as long as I have it, I want to make it more livable. I was thinking you could maybe help me select paintings as well as produce a mural in the ballroom. I think in a few years, having an Amelia Starling original would be quite a selling point.”

  “Oh. You’re thinking of moving?”

  Did she sound disappointed, or was that just wishful thinking on his part? He sipped his coffee and watched her. “Yes, I am.”

  She nodded, all business now. “Well, what would you like the mural to be about?” She took out a small notebook from her purse.

  Gus put his hand on top of hers to stop her from writing. “I’d rather show you, in a week’s time, if you’re available. I thought I could pick you up at, say, seven in the morning next Thursday. It’ll be an all-day trip, and you might want to bring your sketchbook. Are you interested?”

  Lia hesitated before answering. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. No other commissions on the horizon, a big fat one right in the palm of her hand. All she had to say was yes…

  “Helping you to pick out artwork and create a mural,” she confirmed.

  Gus grinned. “Yes. Don’t worry about a purchasing budget, and you can name your brokerage fee once you see the walls that I want you to fill. What do you say?”

  She sized him up for several moments before finally, thank God, sticking out her small, perfectly shaped hand. “I say, Mr. Wolff, I mean Gus, that we have a deal.”

  They shook on it and Gus was hard pressed to let go. “I’m glad,” he said, looking directly into her eyes, holding them as well as her hand for longer than the society mamas would have deemed proper.

  There was a knock on the door and the maître d’ reported to Gus that his scheduled board of directors’ meeting was about to commence down the hall.

  “Tell them to get started without me. I’m going to walk Miss Starling to the car.” He looked at her and shrugged as if to say, “What are you going to do?” Lia nodded and he helped her with her coat. They said little as they walked down the stairs to the front of the restaurant. There, as planned, the same driver stood ready to give Lia a ride back to town.

  Gus caught Lia’s eyes again and held them as he slowly pulled her into his arms. He embraced her and nuzzled her neck again as he had the night of the party. Into her ear he murmured, “As much as I loved today’s lemon tart, I would much rather have taken a bite out of you.” He stepped back, ignored the shell-shocked look on her face and said simply, “Thank you for a most enjoyable lunch, Lia. I’ll pick you up at seven a.m. next Thursday.”

  Lia was still trying to figure out what all had transpired during the lunch when the driver pulled up in front of her bungalow. She’d been so preoccupied with her thoughts that she hadn’t even noticed the drive across town. The chauffeur hopped out and reached into the back of the car to bring out a large box, which he carried up to the front door and into her living room.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Compliments of Mr. Wolff,” the man said. “He says you’re to wear them on your outing with him. Good day, ma’am.”

  After the driver left, Lia opened the box to find a sturdy pair of woolen trousers in what looked to be her size, plus a pair of hiking boots and a pair of thick wool socks. A note inside read: “I hope you enjoy hiking. You are about to see something really spectacular. I’m looking forward to our next meeting. Gus.”

  Bewildered, enchanted, Lia could only shake her head. What was she getting herself into with this man? And why did he make her whole being crackle like sparklers on the Fourth of July?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Up early on the appointed day, Lia watched for Gus out her front window. She was dressed and ready to go in the surprisingly comfortable brown wool pants he’d provided, the not-so-wonderful boots, and a blue hounds-tooth jacket she hoped would be warm enough. She’d stuffed her unruly hair in a red watchman’s cap and wore black mittens. Numb toes and chattering teeth weren’t high on Lia’s list of favorite things; the chill of the morning and the unusual winter fog did not bode well for the day. Still, she was curious to see what Gus thought was so exceptional, and as promised he pulled up in his Winton promptly at seven a.m., honking his horn to announce his arrival.

  “Shush, you’ll wake the neighbors,” she admonished, quickly locking her door and rushing out to the open-air automobile. She carried a simple cloth messenger bag in which she’d stuffed her sketchbook, some pencils, an eraser, a small jar of water, and two oranges. Because of her small size she had to swing the bag behind her and use both hands to grab on while she tried to clamber aboard. Gus hopped out of the car and came around to her side, easily picking her up by the waist and depositing her in the front passenger seat.

  “I could have managed,” she grumbled.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a grin. “The question is when. We’ve got a ferry to catch.”

  They rumbled down the quiet streets of the city, the car’s headlights barely penetrating the dark, dense mist. Gus glanced over at Lia, then reached into the back seat to hand her a thick woolen blanket. He gave her mismatched outfit a once over. “Making a fashion statement, are we?” he teased.

  Lia tried to suppress a smile but failed. “I’ll have you know all the best dressed San Franciscans will soon be wearing thi
s eclectic style.” She made a show of pointing to her red knit beanie. “Remember, it’s all about the hat.”

  Gus chuckled. “All about the hat. I’ll remember that.”

  “You should,” Lia said, realizing Gus wasn’t wearing a cap of any kind. His black hair was just long enough to be affected by the breeze caused by driving without a windshield. “How can you not be wearing one right now? It’s freezing out here!”

  “Compared to the Klondike this is a morning in Paradise,” he said. “I barely feel it. Really.”

  The car hit a rough patch on the street and Lia grabbed onto the side to keep from bouncing off. “Are you sure driving a regular carriage wouldn’t be a better idea?” A tinge of nervous energy colored her tone.

  Gus smiled, reached over, and patted her knee through the blanket. “I’m afraid these carriages—the horseless variety—are here to stay. Stick with me and you’ll get used to it.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You’ll get used to lots of new and wonderful things.”

  Stick with me. How lovely that sounded. But how long would that be? How long before someone else caught Gus’s fancy? A week? A month, maybe? Would she be able to keep his interest for even half a year? The sobering thought tugged at her spirits; she had to work to pry it loose.

  “You got quiet all of a sudden,” Gus said.

  “Just thinking,” she said. “So, where exactly are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise. But we’ve got a ways to go before we get there.”

  They continued in silence, Gus finally turning on Market Street and down toward the Embarcadero and the Ferry Building.

  When they arrived at the parking lot, he tipped the attendant generously to keep an eye on the car. Then he pulled a large canvas knapsack out from the backseat and said, “After you, Miss Starling. Let’s go on a boat ride.”

  The ferry to Sausalito left precisely at eight and made it across the bay in less than an hour. When they disembarked Gus went immediately to the ticket booth and purchased tickets on the North Shore Railroad to Point Reyes Station. The train was scheduled to depart shortly so they found seats in a passenger car. Gus ordered coffee and rolls for each of them.

  They’d been rolling down the track for a little while when Gus said, “Notice anything different?”

  Lia looked around, then back at him. “No, what?”

  “Look outside.”

  Lia glanced out the window and after a moment it dawned on her: there was absolutely no fog. The sky emerging from the dawn was cloudless and crystal blue. She opened the window by their seat and found that the air, so frosty in the city, had lost a lot of its chill. Lia’s senses told her it was going to be a spectacular day. “My goodness,” she said. “It’s like someone flipped a switch.”

  “Pretty much,” Gus agreed. “And it’s routinely like this over on this side of the bay, especially in the spring and summer.”

  “I could grow to like this,” Lia said lightly, settling back down in her seat.

  “Could you, now.” Gus gazed at her for a moment and her heart quickened. She looked away, feeling a blush steal over her features.

  “It’s…just nice, is all. Do you know John Muir?”

  Gus looked surprised at the abrupt change in topic. “Not personally. Why?”

  “Oh, well, Professor Keith is a very good friend of his. He even helped him start that club to help protect the trees.”

  “The Sierra Club. I’ve heard of it.”

  “Well they’ve been out this way a number of times. The professor says it’s one of his very favorite parts of the state.”

  “I can see why,” Gus said. “You will too. When we reach Point Reyes we’ve got some riding and hiking to do, though. I assume you can ride a horse.” He quirked his lips. “I hear that’s what all the fashion-conscious young ladies back East do.”

  It wouldn’t do to tell him the truth: her father had never had enough money for anything extra in Lia’s life except the art lessons for which she’d begged relentlessly. He’d only consented to those because he knew people would wonder why a Bennett’s daughter was so lacking in all the social graces. No, it wouldn’t do. “Uh, no I don’t actually. My father didn’t believe young women should ride such large creatures, so I never got to learn.”

  He glanced at her. “You can ride with me, then. But I’ve got to say, your father sounds like a piece of work. I think if I ever met him, I might bust his chops just for the hell of it.”

  “You might have to get in line,” Lia muttered.

  It was midmorning by the time they reached Point Reyes Station, where Gus had apparently arranged for two horses to take them the rest of the way. He told the blacksmith who rented the mounts that he’d take just the larger of the two. Readjusting the saddle, he effortlessly lifted her up onto the front near the pommel before swinging up behind her. He’d donned his knapsack already and handed her satchel to her. “Hold on tight,” he said.

  “Oh,” Lia said, half to herself. She wasn’t used to spreading her legs so wide, or having a man brush up so closely behind her, much less a man who made her feel the way Gus did. Certainly George had never ventured anything remotely that intimate. Thank goodness for the trousers. Gus put his arms loosely around either side of her waist to control the reins.

  “Are you sure we aren’t too heavy for this poor horse?” she asked.

  Gus smiled. “No. This fellow’s used to packing this much weight, aren’t you boy?” He patted the horse on the neck. “He’ll have an easy time of it.”

  They headed northwest, casually picking their way through meadows and dairy farms dotted with complacent cows and stands of oak and madrone. Already Lia’s hands itched to sketch the tranquil landscape. It wasn’t long, however, before the first sign of water came into view on their right.

  Lia frowned. The water looked substantial, but it was so calm. “That’s not the ocean, is it?”

  Gus shook his head. “No, that’s Creation Bay. Right now we’re entering part of a peninsula that separates that bay and Drake’s Bay, south of us, from the ocean.” He pointed to a hill in the distance. “You’ll be able to see better once we reach that ridge.”

  They passed through the enclave of Little Eden, a quiet village that hugged the tranquil shoreline of the bay. A variety of shops lined the main street. Down at one end Lia could make out a large Victorian house.

  “Do you like oysters?” Gus asked from behind her.

  “I do. Fried in butter? Is there anything better?” She sent a smile back to him.

  “You mean, other than sourdough bread with butter?” He grinned back. “Well, chances are, any oysters you had back in the city came from here. They’re big into sardines too.”

  “It’s a pretty little town,” she said.

  “And it’s going to grow,” he said confidently.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’ll show you,” Gus said. “We’re almost there.”

  They passed through the center of town and onto a trail that worked its way up to the ridge Gus had pointed out earlier. The vegetation began to change: lowland grasses and coastal oaks made way for fern and Bishop pine. Lia inhaled deeply.

  “It’s enchanting,” she said.

  Gus said nothing, finally guiding the horse up and around a blind curve to a plateau on the ridge. A small sign on the side of the path read “Private Property.” “Yes, it is,” he finally answered.

  Lia was held speechless by the views surrounding her. To her left she could look out to the vastness of the ocean; to her right lay an astonishing grove of towering Redwoods. “It’s…it’s…words don’t do it justice. Should we be trespassing, though? Who owns this place?”

  He dismounted and helped her down, his hands lingering on her waist. “Take a guess,” he whispered, his eyes focused on her and her alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Lia looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Is this what you want me to paint for your mural?”

  Gus nodded. “Until I can get her
e permanently, I want to be inspired by it every day, and you can make that happen.”

  While Gus hobbled their horse, Lia looked around the area again. There were so many perspectives, she didn’t know where to begin. She quickly turned from him and pulled out her sketching tools, focused entirely on observing her surroundings. As if it operated independently, her pencil rapidly moved over the paper, recording what she saw and the feelings the landscape brought out in her. Wildness. Tranquility. Balance. Grandeur. After several minutes she hurried back to Gus and pulled his hand. “Come on, I want to see the trees.” He followed behind, and when she glanced back at him, she saw that he was grinning. She couldn’t help but laugh in delight.

  Just as they reached the entrance to the grove, a large flock of startled birds flew up and over their heads.

  “Oh,” Lia cried. “What kind of birds were they?”

  Gus glanced up and then back to her face. “Starlings, no doubt.”

  “Very funny,” she said. They entered the Redwood forest and Lia again grew silent, taking in the majesty of the centuries-old trees. They stood like sentinels over their domain, as if to say, “You may come and you may go, but we will always be here. We are what truly matters.” Yet the loamy soil beneath her boots and the moistness in the air reminded her that even such stalwart guardians couldn’t hold back change entirely. A rotting log lay across one end of the small clearing in which they stood. A fallen comrade. Lia sat down on the makeshift bench and began to sketch again. Several minutes later she felt a warm hand on the back of her shoulder.

  “I brought lunch,” he said. “Take your time. It’ll be ready when you are.”

  A half hour later (where had the time gone?) she wandered back to the clearing. Gus had spread a plaid blanket on the ground and set out plates.