Blue Sky with Clouds

Beginning-3

Livia bought some hard cider to bring to Emmett’s party. She suggested they have lunch at the market: craft beer and burritos.

“When in Rome …” Lella said.

Afterward, they packed their groceries into the truck and headed back up the hill.

Once home, Livia sat at her desk to work while Lella soaked in the tub, thumbing through Livia’s Apples of North America. She was trying to identify the species they had seen that morning, hoping to be fluent in the local varieties before her next visit to the market.

“Don’t get too dressed up, Lella,” Livia called from the other room. “We have to give them a fighting chance.”

Lella laughed and called back, “I can’t match your aristocratic farmer’s look,” she said, “or that of your lumberjack friend.”

Livia returned the laughter. “You mean John?”

* * *

John Hanby’s awesome chili was waiting for them when Livia and Lella arrived at his house. Like him, the interior of his living quarters looked catalog-worthy. Its sturdy, vintage furniture was adorned with Indian blankets; snowshoes were mounted on the wall. His fireplace showed no trace of recent use, but a neatly piled stack of wood in a copper-lined niche was ready. The oak doors, which neither stuck nor scraped, had jewel-like crystal knobs.

They sat in the kitchen and ate John’s chili, which was quite good, then headed up the hill to Cayuga Heights. John parked along the low stone wall that enclosed Emmett Rowe’s property. The neighborhood was lovely, and Emmett’s house was no exception. It was all stucco and stone, with typical Tudor details: half-timbers, an arched entry, leaded glass windows.

“You wouldn’t find an example this perfect in all of England,” Lella said.

“It’s a beauty,” remarked John, “although it must be a nightmare to maintain that slate roof.”

Inside, they were greeted by Emmett, who basked in the compliments about his house, while he showed them around. They walked through a butler’s pantry into the kitchen, where guests were setting down the treats and bottles they had brought. John’s discomfort about the social atmosphere was balanced by his interest in the woodwork and hardware, whose provenance Emmett happily explained.

Soon left to himself, John decided to peruse the collection in a small library. It was wallpapered in books above velvet-cushioned seating that wrapped around the room. A double pocket door separated it from the living area. He didn’t notice the woman sitting in the near corner when he entered, but then caught the green of her dress against the red velvet from the corner of his eye.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Ah, no! It’s a party after all, and human contact is inevitable.” She set a book of architectural drawings down and said, “I’m Eleanor Perkins. Architectural history.”

“John Hanby, Agronomy.”

“Agronomy? Isn’t that soil science?”

“Yes, well, that’s part of it. Crop science, agriculture, and the rest.”

“How did an Aggie end up at this party?”

“Through a colleague of mine, an Italian visiting professor.”

“Teaches Italian?”

“No, is Italian. She is a horticulturist.”

“You seem a bit out of your element.”

“With the people, I guess, but not with the house.”

Eleanor looked at John carefully. He was noticeably different from the professors she usually frequented. She imagined he knew how to use a power drill, fix toasters, change a tire. What else? She smiled.

“Would you like to join me for a glass of wine?”

John pulled on the sleeve of his corduroy jacket, straightening his shoulders.

“Of course,” he said. “Shall I get some?”

“Oh, no,” Eleanor answered. “Let’s go together. I’ll give you a tour of the stained glass in the dining room.”

As they walked through the living room, John looked helplessly at Livia, who waved to him from a small group where she stood next to Lella.

Lella was describing the Umbrian town where Livia’s farm was located, as an example of the places people miss when they take the typical grand tour of Rome, Florence, and Venice. She was trying to get Livia involved in the conversation, despite her friend’s introverted nature and her distraction by the discovery of Ming Lee at the other end of the room. Ming acknowledged Livia and Lella and slowly worked her way through the small clusters of guests. Before she reached them, a man in elbow patches turned abruptly, causing her glass of red wine to spill on her white sweatshirt. Livia came to her rescue, escorting her to the bathroom down the hall past the tiny library.

“We can get it out if we work quickly,” Livia said, checking under the sink to see what she could use. As she stood up, she saw Ming pulling off her sweater in the mirror, revealing her small, perfect breasts. Livia was taken entirely aback: not just by the unexpected intimacy of the gesture, but by her own fascination with the young woman, which was quite out of character with her unequivocally heterosexual history. This confused her. She tried to keep her eyes focused on the stain.

“Why don’t you see if there’s a hairdryer around,” she suggested.

Ming opened and closed the drawers and produced the device proudly, still standing there with her nude torso as if it was nothing exceptional. She plugged the cord into the socket.

Livia felt a strange magnetism emanating from Ming. Was it a physical attraction? She did not remember ever feeling this way before. She was used to seeing other women with their clothes off, so it wasn’t prudishness that was making her uncomfortable. Perhaps it was merely the beauty of youth.

“Is something wrong, Professor?” Ming asked.

“Oh, no, I was just concerned that your sweatshirt would be ruined. But as you can see, it’s fine. I will leave you to get dressed,” Livia said, turning to the door.

“Please don’t open it quite yet,” Ming said, pausing with her hand in midair.

Livia froze.

“I don’t want anyone outside to see me,” Ming continued. She smiled, looking Livia in the eye, as she pulled the white cloud of cotton over her head, covering her breasts. The sweater slipped off her left shoulder, as designed.

“You may call me Livia. Not Professor.”

“Then, thank you, Livia,” said Ming, holding the door open for her. They made their way back to the living room.

Livia made a beeline for John, whose finger was rounding his neck under his collar as he listened to a woman in a green dress. Livia needed some reassurance, although of what kind she wasn’t sure.

“John!” She exclaimed, “Here you are. I absolutely need your opinion on this year’s RubyFrost harvest.” She looked at Eleanor. “I apologize for the intrusion, but can you spare him for a moment?”

The woman in the green dress opened her mouth to speak, but Livia had already grabbed John’s arm and was steering him away. They went out into a room enclosed with small-paned glass windows that looked out over the garden. Livia rummaged for something to say.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” John said.

“She’s not your type?” Livia asked, relieved that he spoke first.

John raised his right eyebrow but said nothing.

Livia, on an impulse, invited John to come to Trumansburg to look at the little orchard behind the church.

“How about tomorrow?” he suggested, pleased.

“That,” said Livia, “would be fine. We could have brunch.” Now composed, she looked to the living room, scanning for her friend.

Lella was sitting on a leather sofa talking to Emmett, who was telling her about Rowe House, his architectural firm.

“My partners and I met at GSD and reconnected here in the Finger Lakes,” he said.

“What is GSD?” Lella asked.

“Pfff! My apologies, of course, you wouldn’t know. It’s the Harvard Graduate School of Design.” Emmett folded his fingers toward his palm, checking his nails.

“Ah,” Lella said. “very elite.”

Emmett smiled indulgently and continued, “Rufus’s family has a winery on the east shore of Seneca Lake, and he owns a small building in Watkins Glen. That’s where he lives. And Richard, who teaches at Syracuse University, owns a converted manufacturing property in Geneva, at the northern end of Seneca Lake.”

“How do you manage to work together if none of you live in the same place?”

“Well, we lease an office in Richard’s building in Geneva, and we rotate our presence there. We each dedicate one day during the week to the office, and we are all there together on Fridays and Saturdays. On Mondays, our staff is on their own. It works out quite well.”

“Why don’t you just have your own office in Ithaca?”

“I suppose I could, but this way, we can capture work throughout the region. I pick up projects around Cayuga Lake, including Ithaca; Rufus and Richard focus on Seneca and Keuka Lakes. We share our staff and have the presence of a larger operation.”

“And you all have other jobs,” Lella observed.

“Yes. Rufus helps at the winery. He also develops real estate. So, architecture is somewhat of a part-time activity. But we have a full-time firm.”

“A consortium of small markets,” Lella suggested.

“Yes!” Emmett said. “If you’d like, I can give you a tour of our projects sometime. How long are you staying?”

“I’m not sure. Until it’s too cold for me, I guess. I am on a sabbatical of sorts from my job in Milan.” Lella paused, but she didn’t want to think about her tired career in Milan. “I’d love to see your work.”

“What do you do?” Emmett asked.

“My family is in publishing,” Lella answered. “Our new titles are out, and it’s a marketing push between now and Christmas. A good time for me to take a break. I will still be doing calls, emails, and checking things from here.”

“Well, I hope we can see each other again. It’s so refreshing to have such cultivated company.”

Lella suppressed a smile and just said, “You’re very kind.”

She looked up, saw Ming Lee hovering and said, “Excuse me, Emmett, I’m going to stretch my legs a minute.”

Emmett rose halfway, then sat down again and promptly turned to the person on his right.

“Hello, Ming!” Lella said. “It looks like you need another glass of wine. Unless, of course, you’re driving.”

“Oh, no,” Ming replied. “I’m renting Emmett’s carriage house. I only have to walk down the driveway.”

Lella took her arm and headed to the kitchen where the bar was set up. They stopped where John and Livia were standing.

“Lella, John is coming to T-burg to see the church orchard tomorrow,” Livia said. “I thought we could have brunch?”

Lella was confused. Didn’t Livia think that John was a bit tedious?

“Of course, that’s a great idea,” Lella said. Then she had one herself. “Ming, would you like to join us? I’d love to get your opinion of the church building on the property. Maybe we can call the realtor and have a look inside.”

“I’d love that,” Ming said.

A fleeting look of chagrin crossed Livia’s face. Ming was confusing her emotionally and seemed utterly oblivious to the effect she had. Well, maybe it was better to explore than ignore. Whatever!

The woman in the green dress approached the group, turning to John.

“Have you sorted out your apples?” she said, looking back and forth between Livia and him.

He smiled, embarrassed. His face was so clean cut and handsome it was difficult for the four women who surrounded him not to be affected by it. Livia was amused and relieved that their attention was on John.

The woman, introduced as Eleanor, continued, “We were on our way to the dining room to check out the stained-glass windows.”

Lella said, “Do you mind if I tag along?” She wanted to keep an eye on this Eleanor in case she tried to steal John away. Livia did not know how to take care of herself.

Later, as they were leaving, Lella overheard Eleanor speaking softly to Emmett.

“Do you think you can arrange an opportunity for me to meet that John Hanby again? He is such a morsel!”

“Oh, Eleanor, you are heartless. Don’t you see he’s a simpleton? What would you have to talk about?”

“Talk is overrated,” answered Eleanor. She spat an olive pit into her napkin.

Lella approached them to say goodbye, air-kissing Emmett on both cheeks. She held her hand out to Eleanor, who was looking her up and down.

“Are your shoes Prada?” she asked. “They’re gorgeous.”

“These old things?” Lella replied. “They were in the back of my closet. A last-minute choice.”

Then she immediately felt some remorse for having diminished Eleanor’s remark and smiled at her.

“I hope we’ll have a chance to meet again.”

Lella joined John and Livia, and they left.

* * *

John drove them back down to the Flats and said goodbye in his driveway. He walked up the porch steps, turned, and waved.

Lella looked at Livia as she turned the key of the truck.

“What was going on with you tonight?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” Livia answered. “Let’s talk about it when we get home.”

Day of Rest

Lella and Livia were both up early on Sunday, drawn outdoors by the eerie pink light of the day’s dawn. They stood on the porch, watching the glow graze the overgrown lawn. The air was mild and permeated by a musky aroma. Lella and Livia could hear the trees rustling, as an occasional shower of carmine leaves fell from tiny branchlets.