Winter Hearts (25 page)

Sam sat with her on a red velvet settee watching the ladies chat while fanning themselves and the men play cards. Jeffers had not been needed since his parents were there to watch him, and watch him they did. His father was at a card table, strategically seated to keep an eye on him. Every time he glanced at his mother, she was looking at him. He felt like a chaperoned child.

“Shall I refresh your drink, Isobel?”

“Thank you. A little more punch would be pleasant.” Relieved to move around and not have to struggle with conversation, Sam made for the refreshments table across the room. Isobel never initiated conversation but only responded when he spoke. Had she been amusing, he might have enjoyed her company. He had always liked ladies; he’d just never been attracted to them. The sorts of girl he liked were the type who wanted to play tennis or go swimming in the river—sporty, fun types who did not expect romance from him.

When he had refilled her punch cup, Sam looked at Isobel to find her watching him. Their eyes met, and she smiled before looking down at her lace handkerchief. Just for an hour or two, he had to get away from her cloying presence and the intense watchfulness of his parents. Else he’d go mad.

With a broad smile, he delivered the punch and leaned down, saying, “Excuse me, Isobel. I must leave the room for a moment,” implying that he needed the bathroom.

Isobel gazed at her hands. “Of course.”

Without looking left or right, Sam strode purposefully toward his father and leaned down to whisper, “I need the lavatory.” At a nod from his father, he hurried from the room. At the front door, a footman stood waiting to assist the guests. Sam grabbed his hat from the hall table and his coat from the coat stand. “No, no,” he said to the footman, who tried to help him dress. Instead he nodded at the door, and the footman opened it. He was outside in the chill night air, feeling the most intense relief.

The letter to Luke had until then not been posted. He had transferred it from his afternoon suit pocket to his evening suit pocket. Now he looked for a mailbox to drop it into. At the end of the street, he found one, and before he put the letter into the slot, he kissed it.

Please write back, Luke. I love you so much.

For a moment he stood looking at the postbox, willing the letter to get there soon and for Luke to want him back. A cab went by, and on impulse Sam hailed it and climbed in. He’d had every intention of returning to the party after a walk to clear his head, but now that he was outside, he wanted to run. “Where to, sir?” the cabbie called down to him.

There was a place he’d gone with Courtland on River Street in Cambridge. He called out the address and sat back, knowing it would take a while to get there and wondering just how much trouble he would be in when he got home.

In the basement below an ordinary workingmen’s pub was another pub where men and women with his inclinations went to socialize. Sam didn’t know if it would be open on a weeknight, but the journey alone would give him time to think.

“River Street,” the cabbie called out when they arrived.

Standing out on the pavement, Sam paid the driver, who warned him, “You want to be careful in there, sir. There’s a lot of very strange men in places like that.”

“Places like what?” Sam inquired. The driver pointed at the pub. “It’s just a public house.”

“Oh, I thought you were going downstairs,” the man said.

Sam watched him drive off, wondering if there was something obvious about him, but he didn’t really care. He went down the steps into the crowded basement. It smelled of beer and sweat, being a place that largely catered to the poorer class. In his evening suit, Sam stood out. Wishing he had come on another night more appropriately dressed, he hurried to the bar. A beer would make him feel more at home.

“What can I get you, handsome?” the bartender asked.

Luke always called him handsome. “A beer, please.” He smiled.

Leaning on the bar, he looked around. He and Courtland had always dressed down when they went there so they wouldn’t stand out. It had been a lark. Now, looking at the couples sitting at tables together, he was reminded of how much he missed Luke.

“Sammy!”

Sam’s heart sank. There was only one person who called him Sammy. He turned to see a thin, foppish young man with a wide smile. “Court, how are you?” He tried to sound happy to see him.

Courtland hugged him tightly. “Good. Good. How are you? I didn’t know you were back from your adventures. Did you get my letter? I watched the post every day for a reply.” His words were slurred, and he smelled of drink.

“No.” Sam looked him right in the eyes. “Those little prairie towns are so backward. There’s no post office. It’s impossible to get mail.”

“My letter wasn’t returned.” Courtland looked anxious. “I hope it didn’t fall into the wrong hands, what with me declaring my love to you.”

Sam took a long drink of his beer to give him a moment to think. Dishonesty had gotten him nowhere with Luke. He needed to tell the truth. “Court, I met someone. Sorry. It was sort of over between us before I left. You know that.”

Courtland attempted to lean on the bar, but his elbow slid off the polished surface, and he nearly fell over. Sam caught him and helped him steady himself. “Not as far as I was concerned,” he wailed.

“You’ll meet someone else.”

“I still want you.” Feeling guilty, Sam hugged him again. Courtland was very thin and fair-skinned with long hair and a dandified way of dressing. Compared to Luke’s unmistakable masculinity, Courtland was girlish. Luke’s deep blue eyes were vigilant and demanding compared to Courtland’s light blue eyes, which fluttered from one thing to the next like an excited puppy. Courtland was a boy, and Luke was a man. Sam could not imagine ever finding him attractive again.

“We can be friends. We were great friends at Harvard. I’m sorry, Court. I can’t be with you like that anymore.”

Courtland looked away as if scanning the pub, but when he looked back, Sam saw tears brimming in his eyes. He blinked several times before saying brightly, “You’ll never guess who’s here. I hardly recognized him at first. He’s in the lavatory. I was stunned when I saw him.” Sam had to admire Courtland’s dignity in the face of rejection, even if the young man was a little drunk.

Beginning to regret having gone there, Sam didn’t want to meet any of the other young men from Harvard whom they had gotten up to merry escapades with in questionable places. “Let me get you a drink. What will you have?”

“Don’t you remember my favorite?” Courtland asked, clearly miffed.

Sam sorted through memories of their outings together until he came up with it. “Of course, but tastes change,” he said, pretending he knew all along. To the bartender he called out, “Cider, please.”

Courtland’s bright smile made him feel a little better. “Oh, look, there he is.”

Sam looked into Holland Endicott’s face and hated him. This was the man who had broken Luke’s heart. But then, wasn’t Sam also a man who had hurt Luke? “Samuel Porter-Smith, you’re back from the west.”

“Hello, Endicott. What are you doing here? You’re a married man.”

With a look that was only slightly guilty, Holland fixed his gaze on Sam’s eyes. “You’ve grown up into quite a man, if I may say so.”

“Shouldn’t you be at home with May?” Sam persisted.

“A man is entitled to go out for a drink if he wants to. Would your parents approve of you being in a place like this? I doubt it.”

“You know they wouldn’t.” He remembered Luke saying that when he met Holland, he was dressed like a workingman as he was now, in old trousers and a worn jacket, his chin not properly shaven. “But at least I’m not married.”

Holland winked. “We’ll say nothing of this to anyone, will we?”

“Why are you dressed like that?”

The man gave a small laugh. “I like to fit in wherever I go.”

Downing the last of his beer in one swallow, Sam slapped Courtland on the shoulder. “Good to see you, Court. I must go. I was at the Chafees’, and I snuck off. I’d better get back before I’m found out.”

“I hear you’re going to marry the Quincy girl. She’s a good match for you,” Holland called after him.

Sam was out on the chilly street when he realized Courtland had followed him. A cold drizzle began, making him turn up the astrakhan collar on his black overcoat.

“Is that true? You’re going to marry Isobel Quincy?” Courtland asked.

“No. My family wants it, but I can’t do that to her. She’s a sweet girl, and it would be cruel. I can’t give her the love she wants, though I confess, I’m going along with it just to keep the peace right now.”

The street was silent and empty, the nearest street lamp ten feet away. Courtland put both hands on Sam’s cheeks. “Who did you meet? A man?”

“Of course it’s a man.” He took Courtland’s hands to gently push them away. “I’m not going to change just because my parents want me to. I can’t.”

“Me neither, but Endicott seems to be managing it.”

The basement door opened again, and two men came up the steps. It was Holland with a younger, working-class man. They walked off down the street together. “I have to go,” Sam said, the scene making him angry. He missed Luke, and anything that reminded him of the hurt he had caused Luke or that any other man had caused him tore at his insides.

Courtland walked beside him. “Who is he, the man you’ve met? Is he like me?”

“No, he’s nothing like you. Sorry, Court. I must go.” At the corner of River Street, Sam looked out for a cab.

“Tell me about him. Come on, Sammy. Tell me.” Courtland slipped his arm through Sam’s.

Unable to resist talking about the man he missed so much, Sam said, “All right. He’s tall. I’m five-eleven, and he’s taller than me by several inches. He has dark hair, which he keeps very short, and his eyes are blue, so blue and beautiful, though there’s nothing beautiful about him. He’s very manly.”

“Nothing like me, then,” Courtland said in an amused tone.

“No, nothing like you, Court. I’m still very fond of you, you know.”

“Come back to my rooms,” Courtland begged, dragging on Sam’s arm. “I rented rooms so I could have privacy. My parents know all about it. They decided to give me time to get over liking men. As if that will work! They say I have to be married by the time I’m twenty-five. Why don’t you rent a place? You’ve got your grandfather’s money.”

“My parents aren’t like yours, Court. Your father is the youngest of five brothers, so his going all bohemian the way he did wasn’t such a problem for the family. I really must get back to the Chafees’.” He looked at his pocket watch. “Oh God, it’s too late now. They’ll be done before I get there.”

Stopping on the street and forcing Sam to stop with him, Courtland went into his inside pocket and pulled out a gold card case. “This is the address of my rooms. You must come over soon so we can smoke some opium.”

“Courtland,” Sam said, his tone a rebuke.

A screech of laughter from Courtland echoed in the quiet street. “Where is he, this man you love so much? What’s his name?”

“Lower your voice, you idiot. His name’s Luke Chandler.”

Screaming with laughter, Courtland said, “That is a manly name.”

“Shut up. You’re drawing attention to us,” Sam warned him. “He’s still in Dakota Territory. It’s a bit of a story.”

Tucking his arm cozily through Sam’s, Courtland said, “Tell me everything.”

The sound of a horse’s hooves on the pavement alerted Sam to a cab nearby. When it came into view, he hailed it. “I’ll talk to you soon, Court. Good-bye.”

* * * *

The thundering footsteps Sam heard charging up the stairs and along the hall to his chamber belonged to his father. Without bothering to knock, he burst into the room. “Where did you go? And don’t bother to say you came straight home. Jeffers tells me you walked in the door not ten minutes since.”

“I went to a tavern and drank a glass of beer. I bumped into Courtland Choate. Oh, and I posted a letter to Luke,” Sam said.

“You lied to me. You walked away from Isobel, causing her enormous embarrassment. You disgraced your mother and me. You left the Chafees’ without bidding them good-bye or thanking them.”

“I intended to return, but it got too late.”

“How could you lie to me?”

“Sadly, Father, men with my inclinations get very good at lying. It’s the only way we can survive.”

Samuel Porter-Smith the second gripped the arm of the nearest chair and eased himself down into it, his face scarlet as if he was about to have a heart seizure. “I should have thrashed you as a boy. Perhaps that is where I went wrong. I was too lenient with you.”

Angry at the nonsense his father was talking, Sam said, “I spent the vast majority of my childhood away at boarding school, and then I went to Harvard. The only time you and I spent together was when you were teaching me about the family business. I was never unoccupied long enough to do anything wrong, Father. But don’t worry, the masters at school made up for any lack of discipline on your part. They beat me regularly and for no good reason.”

“Obviously not enough, judging by your behavior.” He rose. “You will apologize to your mother in the morning, and you will write a note to Isobel and her mother. Is that understood, Samuel?”

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Winter

It was more than eight weeks since Luke had conversed with anyone but the animals. The winter was mild with not one blizzard and barely ten inches of snow last month, which blew away on the next wind. The ground was frozen solid, but he could find his way to the barn without needing to grip the clothesline.

The barn was stocked with everything the animals wanted and all the coal he needed for the winter. The root cellar was full of food thanks to Sam, and he had enough salt pork to last him, so there had been no need to go into town since he’d returned from Volga. He regretted not buying a hog to fatten up last spring or starting a flock of chickens, but he could do that next year.

Looking around the clean, tidy shanty, he said to the silent walls, “All alone on Christmas Day. At least my house-cleaning habits have improved with Sam’s influence.”