Bonds of Earth (19 page)

“Oh my God,” Henry breathed. “But don’t you think she would… understand? You’re so close. I can’t believe you haven’t told her before this.”

Michael sighed. “I never wanted to take the chance,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “And since she had her first child, she’s become a much more devout Catholic than she ever was. The churches in the Bowery love to rail against the sin they see around them: burlesque shows, whorehouses, fairy dives.”

“Have you been back to see her before this?”

“No,” Michael said, the guilt welling up in him. “The job took more out of me than I expected. I’ve been writing her and sending her money, though.” He did not add that Margaret’s letters had petered out about three weeks ago, and his anxiety at her silence was growing. He tried to tell himself that Paddy would have contacted him if something had happened to her, and she had to be busy with the new baby, but he was no longer reassured by these rationalizations.

“How are you enjoying the fresh country air, then?” Henry asked archly.

Michael snorted at hearing Millie’s inner bitch emerging from the man sitting before him. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

Henry’s eyebrows climbed toward his receding hairline, and Michael felt his cheeks heat. “And what does that mean?” Henry inquired, and Michael remembered belatedly that the older man had always been too damned perceptive.

“It means—I don’t know what it means,” Michael sighed. “It’s… complicated. Confusing.”

He remembered the feeling of Seward’s skin under his hands from the night before, his body trembling against Michael’s own. It had been awkward, returning to the house that night; the Abbotts had all pitched headlong into bed right away, and Seward had nearly been too exhausted to climb the stairs even with Michael’s help. He’d had to haul him bodily up each step, and they’d both been panting and cursing when they reached the top.

“I’m sorry,” Michael had said when he’d deposited Seward on his bed.

Seward’s eyes had been confused and strangely hurt. Michael had swiftly amended, “For tiring you out today.”

Seward’s face had cleared a little. “It wasn’t your fault. I wanted to help Sarah.” His gaze had lifted to Michael’s face. “I enjoyed it.”

And suddenly it had seemed that they were talking about another subject entirely, and Michael had felt a momentary blaze of panic sweep over his skin. “Yes, it was a fine day,” he’d said, too brightly. Seward had frowned slightly before the mask that had once been a permanent fixture had descended over his features.

“A fine day,” he’d echoed hollowly. “Good night, McCready.”

Michael hadn’t slept since, leaving before dawn to walk to the train station in Stuyvesant, with only a brief note to the Abbotts explaining his plan to return late Sunday night.

“What’s confusing about gardening?” Henry was asking, his face open and curious.

Michael took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

T
HE
stout Italian landlady who oversaw Margaret’s building welcomed him like an old friend and regaled him with the latest neighborhood gossip all the way up the three flights of stairs as they climbed. It turned out that he’d missed his sister by only a few minutes; she’d left on some errands just before Michael had arrived. “She gone to Lasky’s round the corner and the fish market with my Anna. Not long, you wait.”

Mrs. Dinardo turned the key in the lock and let Michael into the small apartment. “You don’t look so good,” she told him, not unkindly. “You lie down until she comes home, hah?” Smiling and thanking her, Michael saw her to the door, then collapsed onto the bed in the corner. He’d just doze for a few minutes, he thought.

He awoke from a sound sleep to the sensation that he was being watched. Opening his eyes, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he found himself nose to nose with Edith. Her pale blue eyes were huge in her face, and once Michael overcame his shock, he grinned widely.

“Goodness, miss,” he said, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, “now who would you be?”

“It’s Edith, Uncle Michael!” the girl exclaimed, prodding his legs as though he were still asleep. “Don’t you know me?”

He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I have a niece named Edith, but I’m sure you’re not her. She’s a very young girl, you see, and you are far too grown up to be my little Edith.”

Edith covered her mouth with her hands and giggled. “Uncle Michael, it’s me, it’s me! I got old!”

“Why, how old are you now?” Michael asked, though he knew perfectly well.

Beaming, Edith held up four fingers.

“Is that so?” Michael said, grabbing her around the waist and swinging her up into his arms as he stood. “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to believe you, won’t I?”

Edith flung her arms around his neck and squeezed him, and he hugged her back as tightly as he dared.

Hearing a small noise, he looked up to see Margaret watching him from the doorway, a bag of groceries on one hip and the baby on the other. Her expression startled him, because it was cold and distant and made her look nothing like the Margaret he knew and loved.

And then his heart stopped altogether as he realized what must have happened.
Or rather, who,
he thought, the rage beginning to coil inside him like a great, venomous snake.

“Anna,” Margaret said, turning to the girl standing behind her, “could you take Donald downstairs for a few minutes? This won’t take long.” After passing the baby to Anna, she smiled at Edith. “Sweetheart, go with Anna, please.” Her smile disappeared, and Michael felt chilled to the bone. “Michael can’t stay.”

But Edith only clung more tightly to Michael’s neck. “Edith, m’dearie, we must do what your mother says,” Michael told her softly.

“You just got here,” the child whined, looking up at him. “Don’t go yet.”

Michael gave her a final squeeze before tugging her arms free and lowering her to the ground. “Don’t worry,” he said, throat constricted. “I’ll see you again soon.”

Edith stared up at him, gaze wary, and Michael felt his heart constrict. Without another word, the child walked to the door and placed her hand in Anna’s, who led her away. Margaret closed the door behind them, then turned back to Michael.

“Well, at least now I know why I haven’t received any letters from you in nearly a month,” he said shortly. “I’m going to kill that bastard Paddy.”

Margaret shook her head. “Uncle Paddy didn’t tell me; Aunt Kathleen did. Paddy told her one night when he was drunk—”

“When is he not drunk?” Michael snapped.

“—and she felt it was her Christian duty to tell me.”

“God.” Michael scrubbed at his face with his hands. As much as he wanted to hate the sanctimonious old cow, he couldn’t bring himself to it. She’d never known anything but misery in her life. It wasn’t surprising that she’d take it upon herself to spread it around when given the opportunity.

“Is it true?” Margaret demanded, taking a step toward him as if she might embrace him, then hesitating. Michael’s heart lurched painfully. “Michael, is it true?”

“Tell me exactly what she said to you,” Michael bit out.

Margaret wrung her hands, her face anguished. “She said you—that you’re a—” She looked at the floor. “I—I can’t say it.”

Michael’s mouth twisted. “The latest medical term is ‘invert’. It’s much more modern than some of the words you’re no doubt thinking of using.”

Margaret’s gaze rose to his, shock and revulsion tangled together. “Why?”

It was so far from what Michael had been expecting her to say that he actually laughed in surprise. “Why am I queer? You might as well ask why the world is round.”

“You could still renounce your sins,” she said imploringly. “You could come with me to Mass. You could—”

“Could what?” Michael spat. “Beg God to make me a real man? To help me find a good woman the way Paul did?”

Margaret turned away. “Don’t,” she said lowly.

That was the final straw. Michael’s fury burst forth like water from a crumbling dam. “Have you heard from him, Margaret? Has he written, cabled, sent you a damned nickel in all this time?”

She kept her eyes averted. “You know he hasn’t.”

“No, he hasn’t, and he isn’t going to. When he found out he’d given you another child he ran with his tail between his legs, because he couldn’t stand up with you like a man. I’ve been helping to do that bastard’s duty for him for the better part of a year, and you’re standing there telling me I’m the sinner?”

“I don’t know what you are!” Margaret cried, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t know
who
you are. It’s—it’s as though a stranger were standing before me.”

Michael felt as though his heart were being torn from his chest. “I’m your brother,” he said roughly, cursing the tremor in his voice. “I’m Edith’s and Donald’s uncle. I’m the man who will always love you and look after you. I’m your family.”

Margaret stared at him, the tears now spilling down her cheeks. “No,” she said finally, chin rising in that determined way he knew so well. He’d always been so proud of her spirit, but it had never before been used against him. “You’re not my brother any longer. Not until you—you agree to change.”

Michael shook his head sadly. “It’s not something that can be changed like a suit of clothes. It’s in me. It’s part of me, just as surely as my love for you is part of me.”

“Oh, God!” Margaret sobbed, tears streaming down her face, mask finally crumbling. “And don’t you think I’m doing this out of love for you? It’s killing me to think you won’t find a place in heaven—”

“Don’t talk to me about heaven,” Michael said, as close to pleading as he could ever remember. “I need you in this life, not the next. Do you hear me? I need you.”

Margaret hesitated for an endless moment before shaking her head slowly. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Someday you’ll understand, and come back to me.”

The world blurred. Michael’s hands clenched into fists, then swiftly relaxed when he saw the fear flash in her eyes. Jesus Christ, she actually believed he might—

His gorge rose in his throat. He had to get out of there, now. “I’ll keep sending you money—” Margaret opened her mouth to protest, and Michael held up a hand to forestall her, “—no. If you give a damn for your children, you won’t refuse it. When you find yourself a more suitable provider, get word to me and I’ll stop.”

He dashed down the stairs, her voice following him as he ran, crying his name over and over. When he finally reached the street with its blessed cacophony of car horns and elevated trains, he leaned against the grimy brick façade until the trembling stopped.

And now,
he thought, pushing off from the building and heading uptown,
time to take a few more steps along the road to hell.

“
F
UCK
, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” chanted the man under him. “Harder, fuck, harder, oh, fuck me.”

With a growl of frustration, Michael hiked the long legs up onto his shoulders and redoubled his efforts, plowing into the tight ass over and over again.

“Oh, yes, God, fuck, that’s it, that’s it, that’s it—”

I wish you’d shut the hell up,
Michael thought uncharitably, his erection flagging at the young man’s constant litany. Shoving at him roughly, Michael picked up his pace and achieved a wholly unsatisfying completion in a handful of vicious thrusts. Pulling out of the still-twitching ass, he wrapped his hand around the other man’s cock and brought him swiftly to shrill-voiced ecstasy.

Oblivious to Michael’s difficulty, the other man sprawled bonelessly on the sheets, smirking up at him. Looking down, Michael realized with a start that the boyish face, freckled skin, and golden-haired thighs that had so attracted him a couple of months ago seemed insipid and unexciting to him now. Instead, his mind’s eye was full of dark-haired, tanned skin and haunted green eyes set in a long, patrician face, and against all reason his limp cock stirred.

“God, you’re a marvelous carnivore,” the young man purred, cupping his hand over Michael’s groin. “You fuck with all the determination of your species.”

Sighing, Michael flopped onto the mattress beside him, one arm covering his eyes. “That sounds like a line from one of your plays,” he muttered.

“It does, doesn’t it?” the other man said, sounding pleased. Michael might have known he’d take that as a compliment. “Perhaps I’ll find a way to work it in somehow. Properly sanitized, of course. Mustn’t upset the theater-going public with foul language.” He pried Michael’s arm away from his face and smiled down at him indulgently.

Elliott Castleton,
Michael thought suddenly. He knew he’d recall it eventually if he distracted himself with other… activities.

“What are you thinking?”

That I couldn’t remember your name until a few seconds ago,
Michael thought. Aloud, he said, “Have you ever been in love?”

Castleton stuck out his lower lip in a parody of consideration. “Oh, dozens of times,” he answered breezily. “What about you?”

Michael snorted and shut his eyes. “Let’s just say I’m not so—generous—in my affections,” he murmured.

Castleton’s eyebrows slowly drew together. “You—ah—you’re not saying you’ve fallen in love with… ah, me?”

Michael cracked open an eye and peered at him balefully, and after a moment Elliott caught on. “Oh, well,” he said, flapping a hand, “not that I wouldn’t have been flattered, but it does make things… simpler, after all.”

“Yes,” Michael said, the weight of everything he’d lost this afternoon coming crashing down around his ears, “it definitely is simpler to not give a damn.”

Castleton cocked his head. “Then what was the point of talking about it?” he asked.

Michael sighed. “I don’t know,” he murmured, scrubbing at his face briefly with both hands. “I’m sorry to have brought it up.” And he was. God, it was like the blind leading the blind.

Castleton shrugged, then ran light fingers up Michael’s arm. “You still haven’t told me your plans. Will you be staying in New York?”

“I don’t know that either,” Michael said, then immediately added, “No. No, I don’t believe I will.” There was no need for him to stay in his current job now that Paddy had no leverage on him; the threat of jail had never worried him. But he couldn’t bear the thought of staying in the same city with Margaret and not being able to see her or the children. And so the obvious decision seemed to be to seek out a fresh experience in an entirely new city: Chicago, New Orleans, San Francisco—anywhere. He was a free man; he could do as he wished. In a world hell-bent on forgetting war, a world turning headlong toward the pursuit of pleasure, a marvelous carnivore could do very well for himself.