The pain of missing Sam made him hurt inside, and he didn’t even have a picture to look at. Often at night he lay in bed imagining his handsome young man lying in his arms, holding the pillow Sam had laid his head on. But Sam wasn’t his anymore; he belonged to Isobel Quincy. Aside from that, his anger at Sam had not lessened. It was equal in measure to his love, which was huge.
Just to have company on Christmas Day, he decided to go to the church. He no more believed in God than he ever had, but it would be company for a short time. So he shaved, put on a clean shirt, and headed out.
In town every window in the new church shone with welcoming light. Long before he reached it, he heard the townsfolk singing Christmas carols. Feeling a little intimidated to walk in when everyone was already inside, he almost turned back. The hitching posts near the church were full, and so was most of Main Street, which meant the whole town was in there.
Eventually he found a space between a carriage and a horse outside the little house he had rented last winter. There hadn’t been a hitching post or a board sidewalk outside the house then. He spread the heavy blanket he’d brought over Pretty Girl’s back and tied it down before walking the ten minutes or so over to the church. Nervously he pushed open the door and slipped inside.
It was warm and bright, and fortunately people were occupied with the carol they were singing so that only the few men standing by the door looked at him when he walked in. Up in the front pew, Ingram with his family beside him looked around and nodded at him. Grateful to be acknowledged, Luke nodded back. At the same time he was glad that the rest of the town ignored him. Better that than the scorn he had received before.
A man he did not recognize elbowed him, but when Luke turned a wrathful look on him, the man merely nodded at his hat. Looking around, he saw that all the other men held their hats in their hands, so he took his off. He was so closed in on himself, so on the lookout for slights, that he found them even where they were not intended.
More carols were sung, reminding him of his childhood when he hadn’t known he was different from other boys. He’d been happy then, though his family was poor. Owning the butcher shop meant there was always something to eat, and he had love from his mother and especially his grandmother. As a child he had needed nothing else.
Up at the front of the church, the reverend began his Christmas sermon, speaking about offering brotherly love all year and not just at Christmas. Luke wondered if the town would take it to heart and feel ashamed of their treatment of him. He doubted it.
Beside the reverend, there was a beautiful Christmas tree with many gifts underneath. Would Luke have had the courage to place a gift there for Sam had they still been together? He knew Sam, with his open affection, would have done it for him. He shook his head to get rid of the image. Sam had betrayed him, and his best bet was to forget him.
When the sermon was over, Mr. Ingram was given the job of reading out the names and distributing the presents. Deciding it was time to leave, Luke turned to the door. He felt a little better being around people, even if it was only for an hour or so.
“How are you this Christmas Day, Chandler?”
Morley was standing beside him with a smile on his face. Luke had wanted to do bodily harm to the man ever since he had caused him to be arrested, but since it was the season of goodwill, and he was in a church, he reined it in.
“Just fine, Morley.” He wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction of letting him know how empty his life was now.
“I was in Boston with the family a while back. We were invited to the Porter-Smiths for tea. What a beautiful mansion they live in.” The man’s smug smile spread like a rising river overlapping its banks. He was in serious danger of getting a broken jaw. “Sam was there.”
“I hope he’s doing well.” Luke spoke in a level tone, betraying no emotion.
“He was looking fine dressed like the gentleman he is and among refined people like himself. He’s planning to marry a pretty little girl named Isobel Quincy.”
Thank goodness he’d already known about the planned nuptials, because it enabled him to keep any emotion about it from his face. “I hope he’s very happy. You must be disappointed, though, since you’d hoped he’d marry your daughter and make you rich.”
That got him. Morley’s mouth tightened while a small sneer crossed his face. “I’ve made lots of friends in Boston society since I warned the Porter-Smiths that their son was in danger from you. Josephine will make a great match. I’m thinking I might just move the family back there.”
“I wish you the best since it’s Christmas and we’re in a public place.” Luke leaned in closer before saying, “You’d better hope I don’t find you somewhere alone, because I’ll beat your fucking head in for what you did to me.”
Clearly nervous of him, Morley took a step away.
It was time Luke left, but then he heard Ingram call his name and hold up a package. It had come through the mail since it had postage on it and string tied around it. The postmaster called out to him, “I wondered if you might come to the Christmas service, Chandler, so I brought your mail. It’s been piling up.”
Josephine Morley took the package and a bundle of letters from Ingram and glided up the aisle toward Luke. She was dressed in a brand-new coat and hat of pink velvet, looking far richer than anyone else in town. “There you are, Mr. Chandler. It’s all from Sam. Look at the return address.”
Luke took his mail and saw that it was indeed from Sam, the parcel included.
“We saw him in Boston in October.”
“Your father just told me,” Luke said. “I’ll bid you both good night.”
Smiling, Josephine said, “He asked me about you. He said to send his best wishes.”
“Did he? Thank you, Miss Morley, but I have no interest in best wishes from Sam Smith. He’s out of my life and good riddance.”
“He misses you,” she said.
“Go back to your mother!” Morley’s look threw daggers at his daughter. The girl walked away, but when she reached her mother, who still sat in the front pew, she looked over her shoulder at Luke and nodded as if to say,
It’s true. He does.
Luke stuffed everything into the deep pockets of his buffalo coat and left. The entire way home, he tried to let his anger at Sam dissipate. It would do him no good hanging on to it. They’d had most of a year together. It was good, but it was over. Sam had thought he had Luke’s courage about not marrying a woman just for respectability and convenience, but he didn’t. Most men didn’t. Sam was weak. He had deceived Luke while telling him he loved him. Luke needed to put Sam out of his head in order to find peace.
So he could find his way home on the dark prairie, Luke had left the lamp in the window. After putting Pretty Girl in the barn, he went back to the shanty feeling somewhat better, even if the only person to really speak to him was Morley. At least he’d had the chance to threaten the man. He hung his coat on the hook by the door and took all the mail from his pockets and placed it on the table. He opened the stove and built up the fire, planning to burn it all. Reading letters from Sam would only rub salt in his raw wounds.
When the stove was blazing, warming the chill shanty, he sat at the table to go through the mail.
There was a stack of letters, perhaps ten, and the parcel. With care, Luke began to untie the string. It took a while, but eventually the paper fell away to reveal a soft leather case with a little brass fastener. The fastener opened by flipping it up with his thumb, and the case opened flat on the table. Inside the case was a shaving kit including a silver soap box with a bar of soap inside, a silver-handled shaving brush with very fine horsehair bristles, a shiny straightedge razor, and a small leather paddle-style strop. It was the first present he’d had in years. It must have cost a fortune.
He set it aside and undid the string holding the bundle of letters. They all had return addresses on them, and they were all from Sam. Except one that had no return address and on which the writing was wobbly. Luke recognized it at once as his mother’s hand. It was more than a year since he’d had a letter from her. Afraid of what news it held, he tore it open.
Dear Luke,
I hope this letter finds you well and perhaps even married, though I’m sure you would have written to me about that before now if it were so.
I am sorry to tell you this, but your father is dying. The rheumatic fever came back, and this time it took a tight hold on him. I don’t know when you will get this letter, but I hope you will be able to come home and see him one last time.
I look forward to seeing you.
From your mother,
Anna Chandler
There was no date on the letter, so Luke looked at the postmark on the envelope. It was posted a month ago. Why hadn’t he gone into town to see if there was any mail? He’d been so miserable he had holed himself up like a gopher for the winter. He’d leave in the morning. There must be a train. Christmas would be over, and things should be back to normal.
It was late, and he needed to sleep if he was to get up early. Leaving Sam’s letters on the table, he stripped down to his flannels and got into bed. His father was dying. He had no interest in reading nonsense from Sam.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Isobel, I brought you up here because I want to say something.”
The slender young woman lowered her gaze and began to play in earnest with her lace handkerchief. “I’ve been waiting for you to speak, Samuel.”
They stood on the upstairs landing watching the Christmas party below, which, having filled the ballroom, spilled out into the wide entrance hall below. A tall Christmas tree laden with fruit and silver ornaments stood to the left of the front door on the black-and-white marble checkerboard floor. The scene was redolent of beauty, wealth, and the joy of the season.
Samuel led her to a small couch set in a recess in the wall and sat down with her. Tenderly he took her hands in his. The gaslights flickering in their pink shades were dim, casting a warm, soft glow. Music from the string quartet in the ballroom floated upstairs.
Everything came together in what Sam realized quite suddenly was a most romantic moment. Panicked at what he had unintentionally created, he released Isobel’s small hands. “No, no, no,” he jabbered like an idiot. He needed to gather his resolve and speak quickly to let her down as lightly as possible.
“Samuel?” His outburst had drawn her wide-eyed gaze upward.
On one long breath he said, “Isobel, I know our families have been pushing us together in the hope of forging an alliance. They want us to marry without asking either of us what we want.”
Smiling, she said, “While that is not the romantic proposal I was expecting, Samuel, I would be very proud to be your wife. I have always known I would marry a man chosen by my family, but I had no real hope of them choosing one as handsome and charming as you.” She blushed and looked down again.
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Hating himself for what he was about to do, Sam said in a rush, “Isobel, forgive me. I can’t marry you.”
With a look of horror on her pretty face, her gaze met his once more. “What?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t love you. I could never give you what you expect from a husband.”
“It’s true, then,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes.
“What?” Sam asked. “Surely you want a man who can love you as you deserve. That man will never be me.”
Her voice shaking, she said, “I have never expected a husband who would love me. That is not how our class works. You know that. Brahmins forge alliances. But I did anticipate a husband who would respect me.”
“My dear Isobel, I respect you very much. I simply cannot be your husband. But what do you mean,
it’s true
?”
Her chin quivered as she spoke. “People say you prefer gentlemen to ladies. Is that why you don’t want me, or is there something lacking in me as a woman?”
Her question left him in the worst kind of quandary. Should he admit openly that he was attracted only to men and relieve her of believing there was something wrong with her? It would be cruel not to but would get him in terrible trouble with his family.
“You are very lovely, dear girl, and I am flattered that you would marry me. I’m not the marrying kind, that’s all.”
Bravely holding back her tears, she rose elegantly. Sam leaped to his feet. “Thank you for informing me of your feelings, Samuel. Good night.” The skirts of her white dress flew about her like blossoms in a spring breeze as she ran on light feet down the stairs.
Feeling like an absolute cad, Sam sat, needing a minute alone before facing the party again. If he had his own way, he would go to his chamber, but he didn’t have a life: he had obligations.
A little laugh issuing from along the dim hallway drew his gaze to the tall figure of a man. “That was as delicately done as possible, I suppose.” As he came nearer, Sam realized it was Holland Endicott. He took Isobel’s place on the couch. “Have you resumed your intimacy with Choate?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I have not.”
“Why so hostile? We are alike, you and I, Samuel.”
“I’m nothing like you,” Sam told him. “I could have married Isobel and carried on as you do, but I won’t.”
With a derisive snort, Holland said, “I assume you are referring to seeing me go off with that young man at River Street. That was nothing but a whim of the moment. He sucked my cock, and I gave him a few coins. But you, Samuel, are a very good-looking man, and we have every reason to be in each other’s company as lifelong family friends. No one would question us. We could have a discreet and very enjoyable liaison.” Holland rested his hot, heavy hand on Sam’s thigh close to his privates.
Feeling nauseated at the very thought of being intimate with Holland, Sam slapped the hand away. “You’re a liar. I know exactly who you are.” Bringing Luke into the conversation was a bad idea, but he couldn’t stop himself. He wanted to see the look on Holland’s face. To see if he had any shame or regret about his treatment of Luke. “When I was in Dakota Territory, I met a man named Luke Chandler. I believe you and he were intimately acquainted once.”