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.”
Holland’s self-satisfied look dropped from his face. “That’s where he went, out west? Luke was nothing but the common son of a butcher from Jamaica Plain. He amused me for a while. Don’t tell me you fancied him too.” There was neither shame nor regret in Holland’s tone or expression.
“No, I didn’t fancy him,” Sam said. “I fell in love with him. I’d still be living with him if the uncles hadn’t dragged me back here.”
“So you like workingmen too. See, Samuel, we are alike after all.”
“We’re nothing alike. Now stay out of my way, or I will let everyone know who you are and what you do.” When Sam stood up, Holland stood with him. In an instant Holland’s hands were around Sam’s neck, and he was slammed into the wall.
With Holland’s red face and bulging eyes just inches from his, Sam could barely hear as his breath was cut off. “You will keep your mouth closed, or I will arrange for it to be closed permanently.”
Sam had been taken by surprise, his air cut off before he could fight back. The hallway swam before his eyes, and he was about to pass out when Holland released him and fell to the floor.
Clutching his throat, Samuel looked at Jeffers. “As you can see, sir, I do have my uses,” the man said. He squatted beside Holland with a hand on his shoulder. “Allow me to help you up, Mr. Endicott.”
Sam stepped over Holland and hurried down the stairs into the entrance hall. Just as he reached the ballroom door, Isobel, in a flood of tears, was being escorted out by her parents. Trailing after them were Sam’s parents, apologizing profusely. He waited for the Quincys to leave, and the moment the front door closed, his father said, “In my study. Now!”
The fire was always lit in his father’s study since the man spent much of his time there. Samuel Porter-Smith the second stood with his back to the hearth while Sam’s mother sat in a chair holding her forehead as if she were overcome with fatigue or perhaps ennui.
“How could you lead poor Isobel on and then let her down like that, Samuel?” she asked.
“I didn’t lead her on, Mother. You did. Both of you. You kept inviting Isobel here and throwing us together. You dragged me off to every soiree she attended. You and the Quincys had our marriage all arranged without ever asking either of us what we wanted.”
Pacing before the fire, his father said, “How dare you! Isobel would have been happy to marry you. It is only you who wants to ruin your own life while everyone around you is trying to salvage it.”
Enraged and sick of being told what he was to feel and whom he was to care for, Sam burst out, “I am in love with Luke Chandler, the man you had arrested. You might as well have us both arrested, because I will get him back if I possibly can. Right now he hates me.”
“I don’t want to hear about that man!” his mother cried so dramatically that Sam almost laughed despite his anger.
“Mother, perhaps you could answer a question for me. Why did you write to me telling me Father was deathly ill and that was why I needed to come home? There was not a thing wrong with him when I arrived, and he seems very healthy now.”
With a cry, she got up and ran from the room.
“Samuel, how could you!” his father shouted. Then, seeming to remember that there were a hundred or more guests in the house, he lowered his voice. “I shall disinherit you.”
“If you wish, Father, but with Grandfather’s money, I am free to live my own life. I will not marry. I won’t. Disinherit me if you want to, but you have been training me since childhood to manage the family business, and you know I am the only man for the job.”
His father’s angry silence was his acknowledgment that he spoke the truth.
“I want to do something useful with my life, and I don’t see how marrying a woman I cannot love is useful. We’d both be unhappy after a very short time.”
An exasperated snort split the air, followed by, “Farming in wild country is useful? There is no shortage of men who can do that. Men who do not have the wealth, education, and privilege that you have.”
“Father, I realized when I went west that men taking up claims are often ill-equipped to run them, without the slightest clue how to farm. I was one of them. They end up giving up their claims and returning home with no money and a family to feed. The agricultural college I want to start will prepare them for the land. I believe I can get it up and running within a year, giving either one- or two-year diplomas.”
Finally his father stopped pacing, and when he spoke, he was calmer. “I don’t see why you can’t be married and run a college. However, I agree the college is a very worthy endeavor. It is in the best tradition of what our class believes in, philanthropy and personal excellence. I will support you in that. But I will not give up on your marrying and producing an heir. Now go and apologize to your mother.”
“Yes, sir.” Sam strode to the door, where he stopped and turned around. “Father, please tell Jeffers you no longer need him. His presence is cumbersome, and it will not change my mind.”
His father leveled a long, hard look at him. “I did not employ Jeffers to ensure you would marry. I employed him to prevent you from making the same mistake you made in Dakota Territory and bringing shame on the family.”
Sam sighed. “The man I love is still there. There is no one else I want, so have no fear. Now please dismiss Jeffers.”
“If you mention that man or any other in this house again, I will horsewhip you.” Samuel Porter-Smith the second turned his back on his son.
It was probably a bad idea to say anything further, but he’d a lot of bad ideas in the past year, the first of which was lying to Luke. “Holland Endicott sees men. He goes to River Street and probably other places to pick them up. He propositioned me upstairs just now.”
Fury contorting his expression, his father whirled around to face him. “I have heard rumors about Holl
and Endicott, and I care not whether they are true. He married May, and they have children. On the surface he leads a respectable life, and any peccadilloes he may indulge in he keeps to himself. Why can’t you do that? Despite your cruelty to Isobel this evening, I’m sure she would still accept you.”
Sam left the room in search of his mother.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The sitting room behind the butcher shop was as cramped as ever, but it was also as spotlessly clean and well kept as it always was. The fire in the grate was cheerful. The meal Luke had just eaten with his mother and brother in the kitchen was plain but delicious. They’d always had lots of meat if nothing else, and his mother knew how to cook the cheap cuts really well in hard times. But the shop was making a gain these days with Adam now old enough to run it. The moment supper was finished, Luke’s younger brother had run upstairs to ready himself to go out.
Luke sat in his father’s worn but comfortable chair on one side of the narrow fireplace while his mother sat on the other.
“You look handsome, Luke.” He wore a white shirt with a tie and a suit he had bought from Power’s Tailor Shop ready-made. Nothing very fancy but certainly smart. He had thought he’d be attending a funeral. He had shaved his face with great care before he left with the new shaving kit from Sam, but he was due for another shave and hadn’t had time yet.
“You look tired, Ma.” His mother was in her midfifties, but worry and her husband’s prolonged illness had worn her down. Her shoulders sagged, and her hair was graying.
“I can’t complain. The girls are doing well. Rose writes from out west every month. I’ll show you her letters tomorrow. She has a baby girl now. Petronella has opened a milliner’s shop, of all things. You must go by to see her this week.” She smiled. “Alice and Violet are happily married, and Adam has his girlfriend.”
As she spoke, Adam popped his head around the door, freshly shaven, his hair brushed back with water. “Soon to be my wife, if I’m lucky. I’m taking her to the music hall, but I’ll bring her over later to meet you, Luke. Bye!” They heard the back door close behind him before they could reply.
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