“I’m sure you know how since you’ve read all those books,” Luke said.
“I can do it.” He smiled. “I’ll show you, Luke Chandler.”
Luke grinned at him. “I’ll be watching.”
Chapter Eleven
When Sam left for his claim next morning, his letters were still lying on the table. Luke didn’t notice them until noon when he came back to the shanty to eat his dinner and get a brief respite from the sun. It wasn’t an extremely hot day, but as he’d explained to Sam, the prairie sun was different because there was no shade and the land was flat.
Pretty Girl needed a break too from pulling the plow all morning.
For dinner he made a cheese sandwich, and just before he bit into it, he spotted the pickle jar on the shelf. He sliced up the last one and added it to the sandwich.
I can learn from you even if I am older, Sam darling.
Sitting down at the table, he picked up the letter on top, which Sam had said was from a sweetheart in Boston. The next letter was from England. Surely Sam’s parents couldn’t be in England. How could they afford a trip like that on a tanner’s wage? Maybe it was the grandma, but Sam had said she was over here.
“I love you, Luke.”
Had his handsome young man really said that, and did he mean it? At the time Luke had been so engulfed with pleasure that the declaration barely registered, and afterward he was too embarrassed to bring it up. It was hard to say words like
I love you.
The sky was beginning to cloud over, so he hurried back to the field to continue plowing. With one horse he doubted he could plant more than thirty acres this year, but he wanted to plow as much land as possible. The prairie sod was tough, tall grass having deep roots. Luke had planned from the start to grow wheat on one hundred acres, oats on five to feed the animals, and to eventually buy livestock and have a milk and beef herd. When he got to that stage, he’d need to hire help. If only he and Sam could farm together. He could make his farm successful in half the time it would take him as a single man. If he was like other men, he’d have a wife and several growing boys by now to help him out. A wife would cook and keep the house clean. She’d tend the vegetable garden and do the canning for the winter. He had a feeling Sam would prefer to do those jobs, as well as doing men’s work some of the time.
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
The rain held off until the sun began to decline, and Luke headed back to the shanty. He put Pretty Girl in the barn and did the chores first. The house felt empty without Sam; with luck he would be over soon. Luke swept the floor and made the place respectable, then sat at the table waiting. When it grew dusk and Sam didn’t show up, Luke guessed he wasn’t going to, and lit the stove to make supper. Lying in bed later, he waited and listened. Still Sam didn’t come, and eventually he fell asleep.
* * * *
By noon the following day, there was still no sign of the young man. Luke veered back and forth between,
To hell with him if he doesn’t want to see me
, and
He’s got into an accident, and he’s lying dead or injured out on the prairie. What if he’s been there all night?
Without bothering to make dinner, he unhitched Pretty Girl from the plow and rode her over to Sam’s land. From a distance he spotted him—not lying in the field, but holding the plow as Pip pulled it. He would get two feet and lose control of the plow, falling over in the dirt. Pip carried on walking another few yards while Sam got to his feet and caught up with him. Then he went through the laborious process of retracing his steps with Pip and the plow to start the whole thing again because the furrow wasn’t straight. As he rode closer, Luke saw that Sam hadn’t managed to plow more than twenty feet since yesterday.
So much for books.
When the whole process happened again, Sam threw his hat on the ground, swearing loudly as sweat dripped from his forehead. Luke dismounted, allowing his horse to graze on the unplowed prairie grass, and wandered over to Sam.
“What’s up, boy?”
Looking surprised but also relieved to see him, Sam wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “I’m an idiot, that’s what,” he said simply. “I thought I could be a farmer, but I can’t.”
“Sure, you can,” Luke said. “You need practice, that’s all. The work is too hard for one horse. I’m going to wear Pretty Girl out if I use her to plow my whole claim, and Pip won’t be good for much either when you’re done working him. I’m thinking of buying a pair of oxen. Do you want to share the cost and we can alternate days of plowing and help each other?”
Sam ignored the question. “My whole body hurts from the strain of trying to hold the plow straight. I could hardly get up this morning.”
“You’ll get used to it.” Luke wanted to hug him tight and take all the pain and worry away. He scanned the prairie. Even though there was nothing but the horses and birds in sight, he could not make himself take the risk.
Tears brimmed in Sam’s sweet brown eyes. “I don’t want to get used to a lonely life like this. What I want is to live with you, just the two of us on our own land like all the other families in De Smet do. This is too much for one man.”
That was what Luke wanted too, but he was smart enough to know it wasn’t possible. “You came here with a romantic notion of farming.” He smiled. “And it’s only too much for one man who hasn’t a clue what he’s doing. What made you think you could go from working in a hotel to working your own farm? You should have worked as a farmhand for a couple of years first.”
Sam spread his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. His palms, blistered and bleeding from trying to hold the plow straight, broke Luke’s heart. He wanted to grab them and kiss them better. “I didn’t realize how hard and how lonely it was. And I don’t see why wanting to live with a man I love is a romantic notion instead of a practicality. Two of us can farm one claim better than we can farm one each.”
Those words again. Luke looked at his boots. Just hearing
I love you
made his cheeks grow hot. Holland had never said those words. At least he’d never lied about that.
“Some things just won’t work out. You have to be sensible, and that makes no sense.” Luke took a long breath before saying quietly, “I waited for you last night.”
The tears threatening to breach Sam’s eyes finally spilled down his cheeks, but he didn’t cry. He looked so tired he could barely move the muscles in his face. “Sorry. I was so exhausted after digging the vegetable garden. Prairie ground is so tight with grass roots. I’m not as strong as you.”
Luke tried to sound firm, but his tone was tender when he spoke. “You’re still a boy, that’s why, and you’ll get stronger as you get older and when you’ve worked the land for a while. Come on, let me show you how to plow, and we’ll talk later about the oxen.”
* * * *
A couple of hours later, they had a quarter acre plowed, and Sam seemed much more confident. But it was true he wasn’t strong enough to steer the plow, not to mention a horse not used to plowing. “I’m done. I can’t do any more.”
“You need Dr. Allen’s liniment,” Luke said with a smile, glancing around the vast prairie. “And I know someone who’d love to rub it all over you.”
“Oh yeah?” Sam attempted a smile back. “Who would that be?”
Luke looked at his booted feet again as warmth flooded his cheeks. It wasn’t like him to be flirtatious, and as much as he wanted to be, it felt uncomfortable. “Who do you think?” he said in a stronger voice. “I’m starving. I haven’t eaten today. Let’s make some supper. Did you eat dinner?”
“No, I had no heart for it, nor breakfast. I wanted to get out on the land. I thought I’d have half of it plowed today and then come over to make supper for you while I boasted about how clever I am.”
“Give it time.” The young man looked so despondent that Luke wanted to hug him. “Let’s go inside.” The moment they stepped into the cool, dim shanty, he pulled Sam close to his chest.
With a long sigh, Sam went limp in his arms. “I can hardly stand up.”
Luke held him tightly as he looked around. The furniture was still not arranged, and the bed stood in pieces against the wall. “You haven’t even set up your bed. Where did you sleep last night?”
“In the barn with Pip. A badger wandered in. Scared the heck out of me.”
“What? Didn’t you fasten the door closed?” Luke asked.
“No. I thought I’d be fine.”
“You idiot!” he burst out. “There’re wolves on the prairie. You could have been eaten alive.”
“Wolves?” Sam gazed at him, eyes wide with shock. “I haven’t seen any wolves. I didn’t know there were wolves.”
Luke released Sam and looked at him. “I know you’re a city boy, but where’s your common sense? I thought you’d read books.”
“That again? How long am I going to be hearing that old joke? Don’t laugh at me. I’m already crabby enough.” Sam went to the stove, threw in a shovelful of coal, and attempted to light it. “When I finally got the stove going last night, it smoked up the whole shanty, which is another reason I slept in the barn.”
Luke took a long look at the stove and started to laugh.
“I don’t see what’s so damn funny! I nearly choked to death.” Sam was growing increasingly upset.
“I’ll tell you what’s so damn funny, boy. You haven’t connected the stove pipe.” He pointed at the pipe lying up against the wall. “That’s why it smoked. All the smoke was filling the room instead of being directed out through the roof. You’re lucky the fumes didn’t kill you.”
Sam looked at the stove while tears started to roll down his cheeks again, and this time he released a stifled sob. “Shit!”
For a moment Luke watched him, embarrassed at the sight of a man crying. Men don’t cry. “Hey now, stop that.” He forced himself to look directly at Sam, who wiped at his tears but didn’t appear terribly ashamed of them. Luke pulled him into a rough hug. “Act like a man.”
Sam shoved him away, clearly insulted. “I am a man. I’m a different kind of man than you, that’s all.”
Impatient now, Luke said, hands on hips, “You must have had a stove in your house in Boston, or a fireplace or something. You know you have to have an outlet for smoke. And why didn’t you put your bed together?”
Sam looked over at the headboard and side rails propped against the wall. “I couldn’t figure out how.” He paused before adding, “I worked in a kitchen, remember.”
“But you grew up in a family, and I guess they expected you to bring in wood or coal and help in the house and take any weekend job you could get as soon as you turned ten or eleven years old. I helped the coal man deliver sacks of coal on weekends when I was eight. I worked in the butcher shop sweeping up blood-soaked sawdust and gristle.” When Sam didn’t answer, Luke said, “Come on, boy, we’ll go to my shanty, and you can cook us something. I’m hungry, and you must be too. It’ll take a while to get this place up and running.”
Sam followed him outside, and they rode over to Luke’s claim. It started raining just as they arrived, and they hurried inside. With the rain pounding on the roof and Sam at the stove looking much happier now that he was doing something he was good at, Luke felt content and happy—like the shanty really was a home. Without Sam, it felt empty.
“You left your letters here.” Luke pointed at the table where he’d left them. “You don’t seem too interested in finding out how your family is doing.”
Sam looked over his shoulder at the letters. “I’m not.”
“How come? Do they know about you?”
“Yes.” Sam moved stiffly as he prepared the supper and set the table while Luke sat watching him. Every now and then Sam shrugged, flexing his muscles to try to relieve the pain.
“Don’t you want to know what your old sweetheart has to say?”
With very deliberate movements, Sam put down the spatula he was turning the potato pancakes with and walked over to the table. He took the unopened letter from Luke’s hand and returned to the stove, opened the hatch, and tossed the letter into the flames. “You write me a letter, and I’ll read it,” he said.
When he had first gone to the mines, Luke had drunk a lot of whiskey with the other men. The first mouthful always sent a flame down his throat and then lit a fire in his belly. That was exactly how he felt now, watching Sam dismiss the man from his past. It was time he did the same. In a couple of strides he picked up the envelope with the photographs and pulled out the one of Holland. Sam was watching him, but still he held the picture up to ensure the young man saw it before he tossed it after Sam’s letter.
“Now you’re really my darling man,” Sam told him.
Feeling satisfied, Luke sat down again and waited for his supper.
Potatoes pancakes and fried eggs with soft yokes was his favorite meal, and he ate it with great enjoyment.
“Are you ready for a liniment rub?” he asked when he’d swallowed the last mouthful. For once Sam had eaten faster than Luke had, though he always served Luke the larger portion.
“I was so hungry.” Sam smiled. “Let me wash the dishes first, and then I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll do the outdoor chores while you’re doing that,” Luke said.
“Luke.” Sam reached for his hand, and Luke let him take it. “What if I gave up my claim and moved in here with you? A hundred and sixty acres is enough to support a family with children. It’s plenty for two men. It will be easier on both of us if we live together. I was so lonely last night, and I bet you were too.” He looked at Luke, waiting for a reply.
“Yes, I was,” Luke admitted. “But that doesn’t mean two men living together is easy. Maybe in the city we could get away with it, but not in this country.”
“It may not be easy, but living without you would be impossible for me now. I might just as well go back to Boston and live there.”
As happy as Sam’s words made him feel, all Luke saw were obstacles. “Just before I came out here, I was in New York City seeing what it had to offer me. I got beat up in a tavern just for smiling at a man. I confess I’d hoped he might be interested in going outside with me, but I never said a word to him, and it was still enough to warrant a few broken ribs and a couple of black eyes. Life is never going to be easy for men like us.”