On the Trail to Moonlight Gulch

by Shelter Somerset

  His thoughts led to Clair Schuster. Had he put on airs with her like his father accused Joseph of doing? Perhaps he had been too harsh with her. Nothing wrong with coming from a small town and working in a factory. His own parents had come from an impoverished village in central Sweden. He had never intended to act snooty with her. She merely bothered him. He’d find a way to make up for his surliness before she left for the women’s hotel. Now that he and Joseph were courting, she no longer posed a threat.

  When he arrived at the park, he was glad to see a baseball game about to start. Tory loved baseball, one of the few pastimes that provided him a release of energy and frustration. His natural bent for quickness had earned him the nickname “Locomotive” from his comrades. They always seemed impressed at the speed with which he’d take the bases.

  His friends, happy to see Tory, greeted him with robust hellos. They formed two teams, six men on each, no catcher, shortstop, or center fielder this time. Tory played third base. He always strove to play as well as his hero, Ned Williamson, third baseman for the Cubs. For nine innings, nothing but the game concerned Tory, along with the passion to win and the enjoyment he got from the handshakes, back slaps, and friendly cheer. Two hours later, with the sun setting over the row houses and factories, he returned home, flushed and lightheaded from exercise, eager to see Joseph once he returned from overseeing the construction of the drugstore.

  Clair Schuster’s voice flowed from the parlor when he stepped inside. She suddenly quieted when she took notice of him gazing at her from the foyer threshold. She was taking afternoon tea with Tory’s mother and father. Odd his father should be there. He almost never bothered with tea when work dictated he stay in the bakery. Embarrassed by his scruffy appearance, Tory made to head upstairs, but the alarmed expressions on their faces rooted his feet to the floor.

  Clair set her teacup on the side table with a clank of the spoon and raced past him up the stairs faster than a housecat. The swishing of her bustled skirt faded, followed by the bang of the bedroom door. Looking after her with narrowed eyes, Tory feared the worst. Questioning words rushed to his throat when he gazed back at his parents and saw that his mother had turned away with quivering shoulders. His father, still dressed in his baker’s smock, stood and peered at him, his eyebrows knitted.

  “Torsten,” his father said, his voice coarse and stern, “we have just found out something we do not like to hear.”

  The cold air from playing ball still lodged heavy in his lungs. With one hand over his rapping heart, Tory whispered, “What is it?”

  “It’s about Mr. van Werckhoven,” his father said through tight lips.

  Tory’s eyes, moist with apprehension, implored him to continue.

  “Actually, it’s about you and him,” Mr. Pilkvist said. “We hear that the two of you spend hours together in your bedroom behind closed doors when the rest of us are asleep. Tell me, is this true?”

  Baffled, Tory peered at his mother. Her head, still downcast and her cheeks red as rubies, shook like a fashion doll’s.

  “Please don’t be angry with them, Gustaf,” she said to the Oriental rug. “They are young men. I’m sure they were playing cards or chess.”

  “Var tyst, Anna. I will handle this.” After shushing his wife, Mr. Pilkvist laid scrutinizing eyes on his only son. “Tell me, Torsten, are you gambling and drinking in this house with the boarders?”

  “No, Pappa, you know I don’t do that.”

  “Then what do you two do concealed in your bedroom in the middle of the night? Is it games you play, like your mamma say? If so, then they should be taken to the parlor.”

  “Games? No….” Tory dared to push his father. “What worries you, Pappa?”

  Mr. Pilkvist waited an agonizing moment before responding. “I sense something wrong with all this. I don’t know, but all this stops now, here, today, for good. You will not permit Mr. van Werckhoven into your bedroom tonight, and as of tomorrow, he no longer a boarder in our house.”

  “But Pappa, you can’t. You can’t toss him onto the street. So few rooms are available in the city—”

  “When he return from his duties at his store this evening, I will tell him he must leave tomorrow. I know this will reach New York and come to look bad on us and Heloise, but as head of this household, I must do what best for family.”

  “I won’t let you.”

  “You won’t let me? Did you not hear when I say I am master of this house?”

  Tory chewed on his fury. “Is it that Clair? Is she the one who turned you against Joseph?”

  “This has nothing to do with Miss Schuster.”

  Fuming, Tory rushed upstairs and slammed his bedroom door shut behind him. He hurried to change his clothes, unconcerned if he left his breeches and shirt on the floor the way his mother disliked. Rage blinded him. A few moments later, dressed in proper street attire and a frock coat, he opened the door to find a startled Clair Schuster standing before him, her hand raised as if she were about to knock.

  “Please, please, I didn’t mean to cause trouble.” Her red eyes met his. “I only mentioned Mr. van Werckhoven spending time in your room because I was confused. Why does he spend so much time with you and not me? Do you know? Why?”

  Furious, Tory wanted to slap her, toss her to the floor like he had his soiled clothes. He pursed his lips, able to think only of cruel curses to spew at her. Decorum cleaved his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” Clair went on. Fresh tears streamed from her bloodshot eyes. She wrung her hands, her fingernails chipped and dirtied from her factory job. “I mentioned it to your parents to ask them why he spent so much time in your room, that’s all. I was so confused. I didn’t imagine they’d get so angry and force Mr. van Werckhoven onto the street. Try to convince your parents to let him stay. Please, try.”

  To think he had wanted to act kinder to her. That he had harbored regret for the way he had treated her. All the while she had plotted her betrayal of him and Joseph. The meddlesome girl from Kenosha had sat in her room listening to them from the start. Irked with jealousy, she’d finally unleashed her bitter vengeance by revealing his and Joseph’s secret meetings in his bedroom. And now she pretended innocence. He refused to fall for her false sweet demeanor.

  Biting his lower lip, he scooted by her and dashed downstairs. He heard the anguished call of his mother as he hustled outside down the marble front steps, followed by his father shouting at her, “Var tyst!”

  He paid the hansom driver twenty-three cents and stood on the corner of State and Van Buren, gazing at the building that housed the van Werckhovens’ drugstore. He had come to see Joseph on a rescue mission. But to rescue him from what? His father’s wrath? The relentless clutches of Clair Schuster? Or the humiliation of having been found out?

  To what depth did Clair and his parents understand their relationship? Tory did not care. He and Joseph van Werckhoven loved each other. Nothing wielded enough power to wedge a barrier between them now. Not confusion, not jealousy, not resentment. Destiny demanded they remain together.

  Straightening his spine, Tory waited for a break in traffic before marching across the street. He entered by the lobby, where busy laborers raising the interior kept him from fully entering the drugstore. He saw Joseph turn his way and flash him a wide smile.

  “Tory.” Joseph, wiping his hands on his smock, sidestepped the combo machines and wood planks on the floor and scurried over. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was curious how things were coming along.” He glanced around, forcing a grin. “I can see a lot has come together in just a few days.”

  “We’ve been working diligently, that’s for sure. Come in and have a peek.” Joseph escorted Tory inside the door. “How do you like the shelves? The carpenters have done a wonderful job, don’t you think? They’ve got most of them in place. You can see the electrical workers have gotten the lighting installed. See how the lights will allow us to work late if needed?�
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  Tory’s smile expressed his marvel. He noticed the muss of Joseph’s russet hair, his smock covered in sawdust and paint, the smudge of grime below his right eye. Joseph had toiled as hard as his laborers. Mr. Pilkvist had been wrong about him. No aristocrat would dirty his own hands when a team could do the work for him. A new wave of happiness, respect, and awe covered Tory. His smile, losing its tenuousness, taxed his cheek muscles.

  Still, he must warn Joseph about the altercation he’d had with his parents and Miss Schuster. Returning to the row house would be difficult for them. Nevertheless, Joseph must know in advance what to expect. Tory decided to wait until Joseph finished showing him around the store.

  The unwitting Joseph took him by the elbow and guided him farther into the construction. Workers, too focused on their chores, merely glanced at them. They stopped in a corner at the far end where columns and beams formed a rectangular division.

  “Remember when we stood here last Saturday?” Joseph said, his voice full of pride and anticipation. “The pharmacy will go here. We’re about a third of the way done.”

  “A perfect location,” Tory said. “You can see out over everything.”

  “All our stores in New York are laid out in the same fashion. Father insists they keep the same interior design. He says it gives the store a unique imprint. By next week, we should have the shelves complete and the cabinets and the druggist table set up.”

  “I can’t wait to see everything put together.”

  Enchanted by Joseph’s enthusiasm, Tory followed him to the front of the store. Pedestrians passed by the windows, unaware or disinterested in the burgeoning dreams of the two young lovers inside.

  “The counter supports are already in place,” Joseph said, running his fingers along the freshly sanded wood. “All we need is the top. The carpenters are working on that right now.” He nodded toward two men hand-sawing an elongated flat board. “We’re using only the highest grade of Michigan pine.”

  “Everything looks wonderful,” Tory said. “Your first store in Chicago. It’s actually going to happen.”

  “Come with me, Tory.” Joseph grabbed Tory by his arm. “Come see what I’ve discovered.”

  Before Tory formed any words, Joseph steered him into the lobby and inside one of the electric elevators. Wordless, Tory gazed around him. “I’ve never ridden in one of these before,” he said.

  “They just got the elevator moving this morning,” Joseph said. “The electricians finished wiring the entire building a few days ago.”

  He shut the screen and pulled back a lever. The floor vibrated, followed by a sudden jerk, and next Tory felt an upward movement, a sensation not unlike riding the mine train. The stir both exhilarated and frightened him. Instinctively, he clutched Joseph’s arm.

  Joseph chuckled. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I felt the same way my first time riding in the elevators in New York. But I’ve never ridden one that goes as high as twelve stories. I’ve gone up and down on this one a dozen times already. It’s quite something, isn’t it?”

  “Like flying without your feet leaving the ground.”

  Joseph threw his head back and laughed. “I love how you see things, Tory. I really do.” He turned to kiss him on the lips. A prolonged kiss, but light and gentle, a kiss expressing hopes and dreams. His curly mustache tickled Tory. Tory rested his hand on Joseph’s shoulder and held him in place, wanting a deeper kiss. Joseph obliged.

  Still overwhelmed with the frankness of their affection, Tory chuckled when Joseph pulled away from his mouth and gazed into his eyes. When he had first seen those cocoa-colored eyes of Joseph’s almost a week ago, he had never imagined he’d have the chance to see them up close so often. Their relationship had sprouted as fast as the elevator climbed the building.

  For a moment, he forgot what had driven him to rush to Joseph’s drugstore. His parents and Clair Schuster faded like a meaningless delusion. Dilemmas no longer existed. Only discovery, newness, joy persisted.

  Two minutes later, they reached the twelfth floor. Alone at the top of the world, a sense of privacy like he’d never known besieged Tory. Joseph pushed the lever into the lock position and opened the screen. A wide empty space opened before them. Grinning in wonder, Tory sauntered to the center. Wind gusted from the windows still without glass panes. The dull howl seemed to materialize from every corner. Tory joined Joseph in wandering about the barren space.

  “An insurance company is moving into this floor,” Joseph said. “And an accounting firm just below, and an export company below that. I’m unsure about the others. Our store is considered the anchor.”

  Tory remained speechless. Loving words did not always come easy to him. His bashful nature often paralyzed his tongue. But when had he ever needed to express the lofty emotions circulating through him now? He slipped off his white glove and held onto Joseph’s hand, rough from his stint with manual labor. Another rush of pride rose inside him.

  “Come and look out.” Joseph led Tory to the row of windowless sockets. “This is what I wanted to share with you, my love. Do you see?”

  Tory looked out. Sounds from the beating street below seemed distant, yet distinct and within reach. Faint lights emerged against the dusk. He had never stood so high, both literally and figuratively. Looking down at the bustle of the city with its glowing streetlamps, Tory wondered if he were not dreaming.

  “Isn’t it amazing?” Joseph said, his pompadour blowing in the breeze.

  “Yes, it truly is.”

  “They were supposed to install the windows last week,” Joseph said. “But union issues have stalled work. I’m sure they won’t let it go undone too much longer.” Joseph’s arm tightened around Tory. All Tory’s worries flew out the window. His father’s fury stood like a mere bump in their path. His wrath had perhaps spurred forward everything Tory had wanted from the first moment he had spied Joseph van Werckhoven descending from the hansom cab Friday afternoon.

  He and Joseph could get their own place. Even move back to New York City, if that was what events dictated, once Joseph had finished overseeing the building of the drugstore. They could stay in a room somewhere until then. Possibilities stretched endlessly, like the sprawl of the city below them. Two young lovers could surmount any obstacles.

  “I can see the Chicago River,” Joseph said. “Look! I believe I can even see out west to the prairie.” He giggled and pointed southeast. “Is that Indiana over there?”

  Tory chuckled. “No, I don’t think we can see that far. But I can see the lake.”

  Joseph leaned farther out the window, his hand firm on Tory’s back. “Yes, you’re right. I can see it.”

  His head full of lofty notions, Tory left Joseph by the window and wandered the expansive space some more. Riding on a cloud, he rubbed his bare hand along the cement and steel beams that held the monolithic structure together.

  “Wouldn’t it be grand to live this high?” Joseph said from the window, where he still leaned out.

  “Yes, it would,” Tory said. A simple statement, but one that held mounds of meaning for him. Could he and Joseph live together, in a relationship that transcended time, high above the judgmental eyes of society?

  From the corner of his eye, Tory glimpsed Joseph sitting on the window sill and spreading his arms wide.

  “I’m on top of the world,” Joseph said, as if for the both of them.

  Tory glanced up to send him a smile, but Joseph had disappeared. Just like that. In an instant. He peered about the empty space. The wind howled around the support beams and stirred the debris in the corners. Tory blinked, rubbed his eyes, shook his head. How could he have vanished like that? Where did he walk off to?

  Was he some kind of a prankster or illusionist?

  “Joseph?”

  In a trance, Tory edged to the window where Joseph had been sitting. He thought he detected the building wobbling. Or was it his legs? Unable to process what he thought he had seen, he placed a shaky hand on the sill and allowed
his eyes to move down toward the lighted sidewalk.

  Laborers from inside the drugstore had gathered around something. A mob of curious onlookers surrounded them. A brief part in the crowd revealed what Tory couldn’t grasp but on some unspeakable level had understood all along.

  Joseph’s body lay sprawled on the sidewalk face up, a dark spot growing by his head.

  Chapter 5

  MRS. PILKVIST, sitting in her favorite armchair in the parlor, cried into her embroidered handkerchief. Tory merely stared, eyes wide and stinging with dryness. The undertaker had laid out Joseph’s casket away from the windows, which Mrs. Pilkvist had draped in black fabric, as she had the two mirrors in the room and even her shiny silver tea service. A combination of gas and electric lighting cast flickering orange orbs about the dim room. Tory stood in the far corner, away from the two dozen or so mourners who had called to pay respects to someone they’d barely known. None of it seemed real to him. Even while the undertaker had prepared Joseph’s body for the wake behind the parlor doors, a potent emptiness had gripped Tory.

  Clair carried on as badly as his mother. She kneeled at the open coffin by Joseph’s head and dabbed at her eyes, a pointy finger poking under her handkerchief. Her knees must have been adhered to the prayer kneeler, for she remained there a good half hour. The seething hatred that Tory had harbored for her had vanished. He no longer blamed her for Joseph’s death.