Chapter 2
The Art of Brooding
Adam sat down heavily on the bench on the front porch. He rested his elbows on his knees and his chin in his right hand, contemplating the past day’s events. At least contemplating was what he called it. Hoss and Joe would certainly say he was brooding. But he wasn’t. No, really, he wasn’t. He was just…thinking, deeply thinking.
What had started as a refreshing lunch conversation with Juliet had turned into something he could only call a farce after that Jarvis fellow had turned up. H. Jarvis Raymond, great editor of the New York Times, and “very old friend of dear Juliet here.” Full of praise for Juliet’s writing, for her wit and her way of finding stories where no one else would see one. Full of little stories about Juliet’s life in San Francisco, stories that Juliet prohibited to be told.
Not that Juliet’s writing abilities didn’t deserve praise; they most certainly did, but still. Somehow Adam found Raymond had no cause to come all the way from New York just to break into their conversation and show off how well he knew her. Of course, Adam found he himself had no cause to be annoyed about that, either. But still…. It had taken Adam just one glance to develop an instant dislike to H. Jarvis Raymond. He didn’t really know why he despised the Easterner, but the feeling, quite obviously, was mutual. When Juliet had introduced them, their acknowledgement had been as curt as courteously possible.
“Raymond.” A nod.
“Cartwright.” Another nod.
That was all. After that Adam had been forced to listen to how Jarvis Raymond had come to San Francisco to meet Sam Clemens (“Adam has met Sam, Jarvis.” – “Oh, really?”), how Clemens had introduced him to “most wonderful Juliet” and how Raymond had tried to make both Sam and Juliet come to New York. He had listened to Raymond’s enthusiastic stories about where he had taken Juliet out for dinner, which plays they had seen and which operas they had attended. He had watched Juliet’s face light up at the mention of “Troilus and Cressida,” “The Magic Flute” and “La Traviata.” And he had observed her smile going from wide to beaming to dreamy. That was when he thought he was going to be sick.
He had been relieved from this torture when Juliet had asked, “But surely you didn’t come all the way from New York only to have a little chat about times gone by with me?” and had performed her little trademark lopsided smile and sarcastic eyebrow gymnastics.
“Oh no,” Raymond had answered. “As much as I relish our little chat, this is not the main reason I burdened myself with this long, arduous travel.”
“So you’re here on business?”
“You are absolutely right, dear Juliet. Observant as usual.” Raymond had looked at Juliet as if she just had made an exceptionally clever comment. Adam had felt the nausea coming back.
“Long story short: people in New York crave stories from the far West. Well, as you remember, my dear, I always had a thing for the rough country, and those earthy Westerners.” Here Raymond had acknowledged Adam’s presence for the first time since their introduction with a sickeningly patronizing glance. “So I decided this was editor’s issue. And since Sam wrote me you were stranded here, I intended to kill two birds with one stone, if you excuse my pictorial speech, and meet both you and my new series of articles at Virginia City.”
“What do you have in mind, Jarvis?”
“I’m not sure yet. See how people live, and write about their daily life. About their dreams and ideas, about their work and free time.” He had looked at Adam again. “Your friend, Mr. Cartwright here, for example. I could follow him—”
“Most certainly not.” For the first time Adam had felt the need to contribute something to the conversation.
Raymond had thrown him a surprised glance. “Cartwright, I can make you famous. All of New York City will know the name Evan Cartwright, and his daily adventures.”
Adam hadn’t even bothered to correct his name.
“Jarvis, Adam,” Juliet had put special emphasis on his name. “Adam isn’t very fond of reading his name in newspapers. You’d better look for somebody else.”
“My life is quite boring, anyway.” In retrospect, Adam should have known this lame and unnecessary attempt at a diversion would bring him into trouble.
Juliet seemed to be unable to resist any temptation for a witty and often enough biting comment. Like a dog that smelled a hare, she would keep tracking until she got her prey. And somehow Adam had yet to find a way to make it clear that he wasn’t willing to play this game. Not that he minded a battle of wits, Juliet’s creative teasing or their bantering about nearly everything. But he had his limits, and one day Juliet would have to learn to accept them—just as he had learned her limits. With all her haughtiness, Juliet had the heart of a frightened child. She wasn’t easy to hurt, and she seemed to take as good as she gave. But when she was hurt, she was hurt deeply, and suffered intensely—he had experienced that once and still felt uneasy about it because he had been the cause of her pain. He had taken every care not to repeat his mistake. He couldn’t fathom why she didn’t seem to feel the same consideration for him.
He knew she cared for him, even though she wasn’t prone to great shows of affection—but her tiny gestures of care seemed very precious to him. The way she made sure he’d always get a seat facing the room, and never the wall, for she knew he liked to be in control of his surroundings, or her pathetic attempts to help Mrs. Hawkins with cooking supper when she invited him “for dinner.” Her patience when he talked about his daily business (something that seemed to bore other women to death,) and that she never forgot anything he told her about cows or horses or timber transactions. Her inquiries about the well-being of his family whenever they met, and how she shared every single book she bought with him, more than once even giving him the honour of ravishing the new volume.
And yet, she wouldn’t miss any opportunity to perform some kind of battle for power with him to put him in his place or what ever was driving her; even if that meant to commit an indiscretion she knew he’d hate. Did she? Or had he failed to make her understand how much this hurt him? Had she enjoyed their arguments about her articles so much that she missed to see how serious he had been about that? Perhaps he should tell her about Tobias Finch one day, and how his reckless writing nearly got Adam killed. Maybe this would make her see. For now she seemed oblivious to it.
Anyway, sure enough, Juliet’s eyes had darted in his direction, and begun to gleam in that strange way he had learned to fear. “Oh, yes, and that. Very boring, indeed.” She had leaned back and given him a mocking smile under very highly arched brows. “I vividly remember the last very boring event in your life….”
“Juliet, don’t. I’m warning you….”
“Oh, all right! I’m not saying a word. I’m perfectly silent. I finally made Hoss the hero of it all anyway. And he was quite appreciative.”
Adam had held close watch on her face, had seen the battle she was fighting inside. Oh, no! He had tried to coerce her to remain silent with a fixing stare through narrowed eyes, and she should have known better than to—
Well, she had known better, but obviously she hadn’t been able to resist. Yet again. “We don’t want to force anyone into calling for the sheriff again, do we?”
How he had disliked her expression of barely concealed amusement! Well, she hadn’t had to spend a night on a very uncomfortable prison cot, still in pain from an only partially healed bullet wound, and running a fever from overexertion and shame at being charged with disturbance of the peace and assault. He had to admit, though, that Juliet had tried to get him out of jail, and when she failed at that, she had stayed with him for most of the night. He never figured out how she had made Roy Coffee let her do so, but obviously she had her ways with the sheriff. Roy had even let her into Adam’s cell, where she tormented herself on a restless wooden stool, cooling his feverish brow and reading him hilarious stories about a Black Knight and his Fair Lady that she had written when she was a young lady, back in England. The tales had been raw and unpolished, but already sparkled with her dry wit and creative alliterations. Adam had fallen asleep at some point, only to dream about the adventures of a black knight that was him, and a fair lady that was Juliet. When he had woken up, instead of Juliet he had found a new, clean shirt on the stool and a note, written in her elegant hand, simply saying “sorry”.
Of course, Juliet’s allusion was just what Jarvis Raymond had been looking for. “Cartwright, now I am intrigued. Why don’t we two have a nice little drink and you tell me—”
“Mind your own business, Raymond.” His annoyed voice had displayed his dislike of the other man very clearly. “Just stay away from me.”
“Adam!” Juliet had scolded him, with that noble look of disdain she loved to display on occasions, and he hadn’t liked that either.
Shortly after that he had excused himself, reminded Juliet of their appointment on Wednesday, and left the restaurant without another glance back.
Adam was interrupted in his train of thoughts by the arrival of his father.
“Son?”
“Hmmmmh?”
“Supper is waiting. Are you coming?”
“Sure.”
“Is there anything wrong?”
“Nope.”
“Adam, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Adam…” Ben took a deep breath. “If everything is all right then why are you sitting out here, brooding?”
“I’m not brooding!” To Ben he sounded like a child.
Ben shook his head and smiled. “Well, you certainly make it look so. Son, if there’s anything you’d like to talk about—”
“Pa, is there anything in my behaviour that indicates I’d like to talk?”
Ben gave his eldest an annoyed glare. “Don’t you bite my head off, son, and watch your tone!” His voice rose in volume while he was speaking “If you’re having disagreements with Miss Heatherstone, sort it out with her, and don’t take your frustration out on me or your brothers!”
“What does this have to do with Juliet?”
“Everything has to do with Juliet lately. Your mood seems to swing with every conversation you have.”
“This is not—”
“Don’t say this is not true, because it is. Your brothers noticed it, too. What is this woman doing to you, Adam? What is she to you?” Ben gazed intently at Adam, trying to catch his son’s eyes, trying to read something in his face.
“Why, we’re friends,” came the irritated reply.
“Friends? What kind of friends argue all the time? Can you tell me that, Adam? What kinds of friends make each other grouchy and brooding?”
“I’m not—”
“You are!”
Adam considered his father through narrowed eyes, pursing his lips and biting the inside of his cheek. Finally he asked, “So, what’s for supper?”
“Adam!” Ben was beyond annoyance.
“This is none of your business, Pa. Excuse me if I sound rude; I don’t mean any disrespect, but this is entirely my own personal matter.”
“It is my concern, if it interferes with the ranch business or with the peace in the family.”
“It won’t affect anything of that. And now may I have the supper you announced?” With that Adam turned and headed to the house.
Ben sent a glare after his son that was condemned to ineffectively bounce off Adam’s broad back, folded his arms and followed Adam into the great room, shaking his head and growling under his breath, “Friends!”
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True friends stab you in the front. ~ Oscar Wilde
Enjoyed re-reading this. Thank you. I especially enjoy the way you put Adam’s thoughts into words. Please don’t forget to let us into the secret of what happened to Juliet in San Francisco!
I love your writing, will you write more stories, I have read them all over and over, and they always hold up.
I believe that Marlowr did what Poole is going to do! What a great subplot here!
How can a smart man be so stupid? “It’s not easy”, Adam would say. And “Because he is a *man*,” I would. 🙂
Juliet and San Francisco…that’s something I never revealed. Yet. I plan to do it, someday. Did forget about it, tbh. But I will come back to it. Cross my heart!
How can such a smart man be so stupid? What in the world did she do in SAN Francisco?