“Pip is being ridden by one of the men we brought with us. He’s following the wagon,” Uncle Peregrine said. “We know how fond you are of your horse.”
That relieved him, but what about Pretty Girl and the stock? “Luke’s horse and the oxen are still on the farm with the cow.”
“We’re not going to worry about a man who took advantage of a boy,” Uncle Peregrine said.
Infuriated that the life he had built was falling apart, Sam shouted, “He didn’t take advantage of me. Luke did nothing wrong. When will you get that into your thick skulls?”
With a small cough, Uncle Julian stated, “I can see your time in Dakota Territory has done nothing for your manners, Samuel. I can only hope the journey back to Boston will give you time to think about your behavior so you will do nothing to distress your mother.”
The farther they got from Volga, the more Sam worried about Luke. The man he loved hated him, and Sam could not blame him. The moment he’d seen that picture of Holland Endicott, he should have told Luke he knew the man and his family.
“Are we going all to way to Boston in this carriage?” Sam asked.
“We don’t trust you on the train, so yes,” Uncle Jackson stated.
“It will take days.”
“It will give you a chance to cool off. Do you really think we want to travel this way? The problem is with your behavior. We don’t trust you. Sorry, Samuel. It’s got to be this way.”
Chapter Twenty
Ten days after Luke had arrived in Volga, he walked out of the sheriff’s office, unshaven, dirty, and seven dollars lighter from the lawyer’s fee. The thin young man who had visited his jail cell for the first time three days after he had entered it had eventually telegraphed the judge who had issued the arrested warrant. After convincing him that the Porter-Smiths would want nothing to do with a trial and no one would come forward as a witness, he got the charge dismissed.
Twisting the end of his mustache with his finger and thumb, the lawyer had said,
“Sodomy is hard to prove.”
Every time he’d said
sodomy
, he had lowered his voice and looked at the ground—though he seemed to find many opportunities to say it. Looking deeply into Luke’s eyes, he had said,
“Kissing or touching another man is not a crime, and while you say Mr. Morley witnessed that, he did not witness the act of sodomy you say you never committed.”
Committed
. Luke didn’t know whether to laugh or punch the man. Why was his act of love something to be
committed.
“Without witnesses or an admission from Mr. Porter-Smith, you cannot be convicted of sodomy, and the judge knows that.”
When he had finally been set free, the young lawyer had shaken his hand for a long moment, seeming reluctant to release it.
Exhausted from sleeping on the floor but determined to get back to De Smet as quickly as possible, he bought a horse and rode home. He would never again get involved with another man for anything more than casual sex. It wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t even angry at Sam anymore. He just wanted to go home and forget him.
All the way there he envisioned starving animals and a filthy stable. God only knew what condition the shanty was in and if it remained unoccupied by man or animals. When he rode up to the house in the gathering darkness, he saw that the front door was closed and the house lay dark. Perhaps Sam’s uncles had had the decency to think of closing the door. He would explore the house later. First he wanted to take care of the animals, but as he approached the barn, he saw that the door was ajar and the light of a lantern shone inside. With no gun on him and too tired to care anymore, he decided to take the risk of going in unarmed.
Had Sam come back? If he had, he’d be sorry.
The man looked up from the trough where he poured a fresh bucket of well water for the oxen and the cow. “Hello there, Chandler.”
“Mr. Ingram.”
The stable was spotlessly swept, just as Luke had left it. The animals all had food and water. “Have you been here every day?”
Gaunt as ever, his long beard making him appear older than he was, Mr. Ingram said kindly, “I was sorry to hear about your trouble. I closed your front door so the shanty would be safe from animals and the weather. We’ve had some heavy rain this past week.”
“We sure have,” Luke said, unsure how to react in the face of the first kindness he had experienced in a while.
“As soon as I heard what had happened, I headed over to look in on your animals. It’s just good fortune that you had already harvested your crop.”
“It is,” Luke said. “Where’s Pip, Sam’s horse?”
“Sam must have taken him. No one but me has been on your property. I picked up your mail as well. It’s on the table in the shanty.”
Sam recalled the postmaster being reluctant to give him Sam’s mail. But being a sodomist or whatever people called men like him, it seemed he wasn’t trustworthy. “Thank you, Ingram. Thank you so much,” Luke said. “Please take this horse for your trouble.”
With both hands up in protest, Ingram said, “I don’t want paying. I still remember that hare you and Sam brought us last winter when we were starving.”
“It was nothing,” Luke said.
Ingram placed a firm hand on Luke’s upper arm. “I don’t know about anything people say, and I don’t want to know. I never listen to gossip, but I know you’re a good fellow, Chandler.”
The lump in Luke’s throat threatened the steadiness of his voice. There were still some good men around. “I want you to have the horse. I have no need of him. I was going to sell him over the next few days. I only bought him to get back to De Smet as quickly as possible.”
Ingram nodded and took the rein. “All right. Thank you.” Luke walked him outside, fastened the barn door, and they said good-bye.
Inside the shanty he lit the lamp and latched the door. On the table a single letter was propped against the pickle jar. The flowers in the jar were dead.
Luke ripped the letter open and read,
Dear Mr. Chandler,
I am writing to inform you that the family of Samuel Porter-Smith the third has made the generous decision not to pursue a charge of sodomy against you. The Porter-Smiths decided not to take action to spare both you and the family the grief and embarrassment of a trial of such a sordid nature.
Please be informed that Mr. Samuel Porter-Smith the third will be marrying Miss Isobel Quincy early next year. Any further contact from you will result in the refiling of the charge against you.
Yours faithfully,
J.M. Cabot,
Cabot, Lowell, & Saltonstall,
Solicitors.
Luke put his head on his arms and let his tears flow. At least there was no one there to see him.
Chapter Twenty-One
My darling man,
You never wanted me to call you loving names when we lived together, but you cannot stop me from doing it now in a letter. My darling, I miss you with my whole heart. When I first got to Boston, my parents locked me in my chamber for two weeks because they didn’t trust me not to run back to you. They told people I was ill and confined to my chamber with a fever. They employed a man to watch me, and now that I am allowed out, he follows me everywhere I go, reporting everything he sees to them, and they question me about it later, but I tell them nothing.
I felt much relieved when the family lawyers told me that the charge against you had been dropped. The last thing my parents want is a trial with all the publicity it would receive by having our family name attached to it. They had you arrested to frighten you off, and I would not blame you if it worked.
My heart aches at being the cause of your arrest and embarrassment. Please know how sorry I am, my darling. I know you are angry with me, and I do not blame you, but please write and tell me you forgive me. I should have told you the truth from the beginning, but I feared you might not want me if you knew, especially after you told me about Holland Endicott.
I miss lying next to you in bed. I miss your skin next to mine. I miss the taste of you. I miss your kisses. Please write back, please! I have managed to lull my family into thinking I am a reformed character, but of course that is nonsense. All I want is you, and if I can’t have you, then I’ll live as a monk for the rest of my days.
I know you love me, darling. Please write back and tell me to come, and I will.
Your loving man,
Sam xxx
After sealing the envelope with red wax and the family crest, Sam placed a stamp on the corner and then sat looking at the letter.
A knock on the door made him push the letter quickly into his inside jacket pocket and stand up. The butler entered and stood quietly, waiting to be acknowledged. When Sam looked at him, he said, “Mrs. Porter-Smith would like you to come down to tea, Mr. Samuel.”
Mr. Samuel
, as if he were still a child. That was certainly how they treated him. “Stock, I think it’s time you called me
sir
rather than
Mr. Samuel
, don’t you think? I’m not a child anymore.”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied at once.
Sam walked to the mirror to examine his appearance. At his mother’s insistence, his hair had been cut until it fell just around his collar. The black afternoon suit he wore was identical to his father’s. Yes, he was back in Boston—a Boston Brahmin to the letter.
Mr. Jeffers sat outside Sam’s room when he was not following him at a discreet distance. Whatever room Sam was in, he stood outside the door. Sam tried to ignore the man, but increasingly he wanted him gone, and the only way to do that was to please his parents by regaining their trust.
With the butler in the lead, Sam strode down the stately curving staircase. As Stock opened the drawing room’s double mahogany doors, Sam arranged his face in some semblance of a smile while all the time he ached for Luke.
The practiced smile faltered slightly when he saw the entire Morley family sitting at tea with his mother in the extensive, well-appointed drawing room. There also, as they had been the past three weeks, were Isobel Quincy and her mother. Morley stood up to shake Sam’s hand, and with his mother watching, he could not avoid it, though he was loath to touch the man who had brought such humiliation on Luke.
“How are you, Sam? Happy to be home?”
“I have to confess I missed Mother,” he said loudly.
Under his breath when his mother, smiling, focused on pouring tea again, he said, “You’re wasting your time here, Morley. My parents think I’m going to marry Miss Quincy, whose family owns a million-dollar business.”
Anger narrowed Morley’s eyes, but he kept his tone polite. “I can still benefit from the connection to your family.”
Sam snatched his hand away and went to greet the Morley ladies, shaking hands with each in turn before walking over to Isobel to sit beside her on the sofa. He hated leading her on, but she would get over him. The delicate blonde girl sat on the edge of the sofa, holding a small flowered teacup in one hand and a fine lace handkerchief in the other. She always held the handkerchief, though she never used it. Sam feared she held it in the event she should be overcome by tears, which she often seemed on the verge of. All the while he said polite and yet sweet things to her, he could feel the letter to Luke in his pocket and wanted nothing more than to be with him again.
Isobel’s perfume could not come close to the masculine smell of Luke after a hard day’s work in the fields. The insubstantial weight of her small hands was nothing compared to Luke’s big, callused hands running over Sam’s body in bed at night. The very thought of having to father children on Isobel filled him with fear and distress. All he wanted, had ever wanted, was a man who knew how to take another man, as Luke did. If Isobel knew what he’d done, she’d faint.
“You must join us this evening at the Chafees’, Mr. Morley. I’ll send a note asking them to invite you since you took such good care of Samuel while he was”—his mother paused—“farming. Were you farming, Samuel?”
Shaking his head at the footman who offered him the plate of small cucumber sandwiches, he said, “Yes, Mother. Sadly I wasn’t very good at it, but all is not lost, because it gave me an idea. I’m considering starting an agricultural college with my inheritance from Grandfather. The experience I got in Dakota Territory was invaluable, particularly in showing me how much a man needs to know before he takes up a claim.”
His mother smiled. “That would be a worthy endeavor, and it would keep you home.”
“I was thinking of a place I saw just on the outskirts of Cambridge with land to demonstrate various agricultural techniques. It’s an old house I visited last year with a large property. The rooms would make wonderful classrooms.”
His father walked in just then. “That sounds like a respectable occupation, Samuel. What do you think, Isobel?”
“I’m sure Samuel could make it work,” she said, blushing now that all eyes were on her.
Throughout tea Sam looked for an opportunity to speak to Josephine alone, and it came when tea was over and they went out to walk in the gardens. Sam had no choice but to offer his arm to Isobel, but it was not unseemly to offer the other to Josephine. Morley could not stop himself from making jokes about one man and two pretty girls, which made Isobel blush again—everything made her blush. Josephine cast up her eyes.
Quietly Sam asked, “Miss Josephine, have you seen Mr. Chandler at all?”
She appeared not the slightest bit surprised that he was asking her about Luke. “No, but I heard Papa say he’s back in De Smet.”
“If you should happen to see him, will you give him my best wishes? I’d be very grateful if you’d do that.”
She smiled up at him. “I certainly will.” Sam was sure he saw genuine understanding in her expression.
“Are you having any luck with the reverend?” he asked and got a bright smile from her.
“Papa’s still against it. I might just have to elope.”
A gasp from Isobel had both Sam and Josephine laughing.
* * * *
The gathering at the elegant Chafee mansion was an after-dinner card party. Samuel had been dragged to one ball and dinner after the next in the past few weeks until he was sick to death of small talk, of explaining his
adventure in farming
, as people called it, and of having Isobel on his arm. Everywhere they went, Isobel was present with her mother or both her parents, and the two young people were continually pushed together.