Nathaniel

by Jan Irving

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  More from Sylvan by JAN IRVING

  More from Sylvan by JAN IRVING

  Also by JAN IRVING

  Copyright

  Happy holidays to all my readers who buy my books.

  Thank you.

  —Jan

  There are no unimportant acts of kindness.

  —Anonymous

  Chapter One

  “FREAK!”

  Jeremy shoved Samuel into the gulley between the unpaved country road and a stand of birch trees.

  Samuel didn’t know what else to do, so he got back on his feet, feeling something raw on one knee. He blinked at the other eight-year-old boys from Sylvan’s country school who had followed him.

  “Nothing to say, freak?” Jeremy asked him, raising dark brows. He’d asked the same thing when Samuel had brought Mrs. Henderson the basket of eggs to school this morning.

  Samuel’s eyes went from one hostile gaze to another. He swallowed and then shook his head.

  “Can’t talk, can’t talk,” Andy, Jeremy’s friend chanted.

  “Freak can’t talk!”

  Jeremy pushed him again, but this time Samuel didn’t fall. He stood his ground.

  “Fucktard!” Jeremy and Andy and the rest pushed him into the trench, pounding and kicking him until he was on his knees, covering his head. “Eat this!” He smelled it before they smeared it on him, rotted droppings from the side of the road.

  “Hey, what the fuck!” The voice of a warrior. Samuel blinked up through the crud attached to his face to see the tall cowboy called Happy get down from his saddle. Samuel’s belly clenched and his face heated. He pulled into himself like a small sparrow.

  The other boys scattered, running down the road, looking back over their shoulders, high, excited voices, leaving Samuel alone with Happy, who took off his cowboy hat and swiped a hand over his sweat-damp brow. Above, the sky was a blue bowl over tall bleached grass, making Samuel feel even smaller.

  “Aw, they picked on you, huh?” Happy said, his eyes reminding Samuel of gray smoke, fixed on his face. Samuel dropped his head, not wanting to meet those eyes.

  Happy frightened him.

  He was loud. He laughed and smiled. He liked music.

  He danced sometimes, all on his own.

  Despite the stink of the stuff clinging to him, Happy didn’t hesitate in offering his hand to Samuel. Samuel stared at it, the stiff work glove loose along rangy bones, the dark hairs on the back of Happy’s forearms.

  When he didn’t take it, it didn’t fall aside—Happy’s hand still outstretched, waiting—

  Samuel let Happy help him from the ground, avoiding his eyes as the big man knelt beside him, cocking his head.

  “Sam,” he murmured, and his voice wasn’t too loud this time, but sad and soft, like a quilt he wanted to wrap around Samuel. Hearing it, Samuel’s throat tightened. “Poor little soldier.”

  Samuel could smell himself. Smell the horseshit on his face, his clothes.

  “Let’s get you back to the ranch,” Happy said. “Your Papa will worry if you’re late getting home.”

  Samuel shook his head, not wanting….

  Happy raised dark brows. “You don’t want him to see you like this?” Happy chewed his bottom lip. “Okay, kid. There’s a sun shower we can use on the way home at the doc’s place to get you cleaned up. Have you met Morgan yet? He has a girl just a little younger than you are called Jessica.”

  Happy took off his glove and gripped Samuel’s dirty hand. He didn’t seem to care about the stink. “Sam,” he whispered. “Sam, kid, it’ll get better, you’ll see.”

  SAMUEL almost forgot about the shit stuck to his skin as he sat at the front of Happy’s saddle. Happy let the big Appaloosa walk, clip-clopping down a winding pebbled road to the homestead Samuel could make out ahead. There were patches of snow on the ground and the puddles were iced over, cracked where traffic had impacted them. Despite that, the day felt warm, dusty, with the Indian summer hanging on into early December.

  Samuel’s lips curved, and he let himself lean back against Happy. He liked being up on the horse. He liked the sun on his face and the way Happy wasn’t hurrying to get him home.

  When they reached a brand-new-looking barn, a blond man came out. He was as tall as Happy with slender hips and bright blue eyes. He smiled, looking at Samuel, who hunched down, making himself small again.

  “Luke,” Happy said, swinging down easily from the saddle. He reached out for Samuel, lifting him free and back to the hard-packed dirt. “This is Sam.”

  Luke tipped his cowboy hat back on his head, his straw-colored hair matted by sweat to his face. “Sam.” He offered his hand. Didn’t he smell Samuel?

  Samuel rubbed his hand over his dark trousers and then took Luke’s big callused palm, shaking it. Luke looked straight into his eyes, not smiling. “Nice to meet a friend of Happy’s,” Luke said. When Samuel didn’t say anything his gaze lifted to Happy’s.

  “Kid doesn’t talk, Luke,” Happy said. “Not since he and his Papa showed up on the ranch, leastways.”

  “Okay,” Luke said, as if it didn’t matter. “Let me guess, you’re here to hog my sun shower? I swear, Happy, you never leave any water for me and Morgan.”

  Happy coughed and Luke colored. “Uh. Well, it’s around back. Help yourself. If Sam needs anything, like bandaging or some clothes, bring him to the kitchen. Hell, do it anyway. Jessica made cupcakes.” Now Luke smiled, his eyes like pieces of the sky above.

  “Cupcakes!” Happy tied his horse to the side of the corral and then put a hand on Samuel’s shoulder, guiding him toward the back of the barn. “We’ll be there, though I gotta get the boy home soon. Don’t want his Papa to worry.”

  “See you then.” Luke strode away with a wave, smacking his work gloves against his thigh.

  HAPPY handed him soap that smelled strong, like the herbs his Papa tended, and then stood back, pulling on a leather cord. Water fell, warm water, and Samuel lifted his head.

  He was smiling when Happy handed him a towel.

  “CUPCAKES,” Happy said as he lifted Samuel into the saddle again. “You sure you never had them before?”

  Samuel shook his head. He had one gripped in his hand, a perfect one with sprinkles. The little girl with blond hair and blue eyes had given it to him before she’d hidden behind one of her tall fathers.

  “You’re going to love them,” Happy said. He spoke to the horse, and they set off at a trot. After a moment, Happy asked, “Want to go faster?”

  Samuel nodded vehemently and Happy gave a little laugh, kicking the horse to greater speed. Somehow Samuel held carefully to his treat as they thundered down the road toward the Rocking M Ranch where Happy and his Papa worked. The wind feathered through his hair.

  “SAMUEL!”

  His Papa was standing outside the kitchen where he cooked for the hands. He walked over to Happy, still on horseback, and took Samuel from him, lifting him from the saddle.

  “Aaron, Sam had a little trouble. I hope you don’t mind, but there were cupcakes after I got him cleaned up.”

  “Trouble, Nathaniel?” Papa asked. He was the only one to call Happy by that name.

  Happy climbed down from the horse, standing with the reins in his hands, shifting his feet as he held Papa’s eyes.

  “Yessir, some kids from the school.”

  Papa lifted Samuel’s face gently. “You’re going to be colorful
,” he said.

  Samuel nodded.

  “The kid is real brave,” Happy said. “I guess your people… I guess you grew up with the whole pacifism thing.”

  Papa stared at him a moment, like he did some mornings when Happy came by to eat. Happy was too restless to do it inside so Papa filled a plate for him and the cowboy stood under a tree, eating quietly.

  “Thank you for bringing him back to me, Nathaniel.”

  Happy pulled a face. “Nate. If you don’t want to call me the other name, that’s fine, hell, I don’t care, but I’m Nate, Aaron.” He held Papa’s dark eyes before taking a step back, bumping into his horse. “Ah, I better go.”

  Papa nodded, pulling Samuel to him. Samuel felt himself calming, like a leaf settling into place when he felt his father’s broad strong hands on his shoulders.

  AARON KING pulled the quilt higher around his son as Samuel settled into the single bunk that had come with the cabin. He stroked a hand down Samuel’s swelling cheek before getting to his feet, stepping from the room, turning out the light, and leaving only Mickey Mouse to beam from near the floor, the night light that Aaron had bought for his son.

  “Good night, Samuel,” he whispered. He knew his son wouldn’t answer. He bowed his head, feeling something seethe like dragon’s breath under his breast bone. He was supposed to have faith that Samuel would recover. Faith!

  Alone in the great room, Aaron felt familiar restlessness rise. He was used to evenings spent with the company of his father, his brothers. Now there was only this empty cabin, where many people had lived. A yellowed plastic clock ticked from the stone mantle, counting the hours until Aaron would serve food to the cowboys again, until he’d see Nathaniel and maybe exchange a handful of words. So far, the young cowboy was the only one to talk to Aaron.

  Needing to breathe fresh air and stand under the stars, Aaron left the cottage, leaving the door open behind him. It was crisp outside, the water that had melted during the heat of the day freezing into icicles that clung to the edge of the roof like silvered teeth. Aaron reached up and broke one off, holding it in his palm.

  “When I was a kid, I used to like to break those off and chew on them,” said a familiar voice.

  Nathaniel. He stood in the dark of the bending trees, holding a tin cup in one hand.

  Aaron’s heart picked up. “Me too,” he said.

  Nathaniel stepped into the light from the porch, slim hips swaying, boots clomping. He took his hat off and placed it on the bench, his dark hair mussed around his face, stubble on his jaw. His smoky quartz eyes latched onto Aaron’s.

  “Some nights seem longer than others.”

  Aaron grunted an agreement. He nodded to Nathaniel’s cup. “Coffee so late will make it hard for you to sleep.”

  Nathaniel shrugged. “I had a date. I’m just winding down.” He sat on the bench and let the air out of his lungs in a long sigh, as if it was the first time he’d sat down all day.

  Aaron could believe that since Nathaniel Jefferson seemed always to be in motion, smiling, joking, even dancing, swinging those hips from side to side. He was like an unbroken colt, free-spirited. He attracted the eye so that sometimes Aaron would catch himself watching him, fascinated.

  “Is she someone who lives nearby?” Aaron asked. This was something he could navigate in the strange outside world he’d been forced to embrace, talk of courting. He would never marry again, never, but Nathaniel was so remarkable that it made Aaron wonder what kind of woman would appeal to him. Would she be quiet and content to let him sparkle the way he did, or was she like him?

  “He’s a guy I met at a rodeo a while back named Sean. He’s a really good rider,” Nathaniel said.

  Aaron’s breath caught in his chest. He didn’t look at Nathaniel, heat rising in his face.

  Nathaniel finally made a soft sound, as if disgusted with himself. “Night, Aaron,” he said, retrieving his hat and getting up to leave.

  Heart thudding, Aaron listened to Nathaniel’s boots crunch on the gravel. He parted his lips, trying to think of something to say.

  Nate, he ached to call him that. The name sounded simple, clean, like the man.

  Instead he walked out from the cabin onto the middle of the darkened path as Nate returned to the bunkhouse, never once looking back to where Aaron watched him.

  Chapter Two

  ON MONDAY, Nathaniel danced in the dust outside Aaron’s cabin, his boots kicking up little tufts of dirty air that hung suspended, as if lazy in the morning heat.

  It all began as Aaron dished out pancakes, something that he’d learned to make from a mix to which he added only water. He still wasn’t sure just what was in this mix.

  Everything seemed like a chemical, making him uncomfortable with the result. He couldn’t help but think what his wife, Anna, would have thought of it, but then if she were still alive, he wouldn’t be here.

  The hands he fed thanked him, their eyes touching on his face, his shaggy beard and suspenders and homespun clothing and then darting away. Aaron didn’t know what to say to them; they were like Happy Nathaniel, speedy hand gestures, laughter. He knew they thought he was strange, quaint. He should not feel pride, but pride locked up his words.

  Only Nathaniel had ever treated him as if he were just like anyone else on the Rocking M Ranch, his eyes alight like the water in nearby Sylvan Lake sparkling under sunlight.

  But now he barely looked at Aaron, and Aaron felt like a closed-up house, truly stuck inside now, his fault. “How was your date, playboy?” Albert asked Nathaniel when they stood next in line. Aaron’s hand jerked as he handed a plate of bacon and pancakes to Nathaniel’s friend. Albert’s and Nathaniel’s eyes flashed to him, and Aaron reddened, dropping his gaze.

  “Fine,” Nathaniel snapped off, but his tone said more. It said, not here, not in front of him; he doesn’t get it.

  Nathaniel had never sounded like that before. Always before he included Aaron, even taking the time to explain things like movies Aaron had never seen. Aaron’s throat tightened, but he silently poured out coffee, remembering who liked it with sugar, who with cream, who plain.

  The work was a comfort at least. He had the work still, the rhythm of being useful. He thought of that when he handed out Albert’s cup and his hand somehow collided with Nathaniel’s.

  Coffee spilled all over Nathaniel, and he gave a soft cry of pain.

  “No!” Aaron said, grabbing a cloth, standing there with it in his hand. He stood frozen. Should he hand it to Nathaniel rather than touch him? What was proper? “No, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Save it,” Nathaniel said, eyes heavy with some kind of cynicism Aaron could not begin to understand or relate to.

  “Ouch, you okay?” Albert asked, ignoring Aaron, who stood there like a stupid, big mountain, watching, wanting to say… wanting to—

  Nathaniel took the cloth, giving a wry twist of his lips.

  “Fine. Good thing I’m wearing blue today; stains won’t show up as much, huh?”

  Albert rolled his eyes. “You are hardly going to meet any hot men mending fences.”

  “Au contraire, my friend, there are hot men all over this ranch,” Nathaniel teased. Just then his smoky quartz gaze caught on Aaron’s before he dropped it just as quickly.

  Albert shrugged. “Sheila and I went to the diner for meatloaf. She wanted me to talk about my feelings and shit again. I think you’re lucky, sticking with guys.”

  Albert and Nathaniel were almost at the door of Aaron’s kitchen now. Aaron watched Nathaniel reach out and rub some of the basil between his fingers that Aaron had planted for a window garden. Aaron had noticed he did it every morning, as if he liked the pungent scent.

  “I am sorry,” Aaron boomed.

  All the hands froze at the sound of his loudness, and Aaron swallowed, feeling eyes on him.

  Nathaniel had been saying something to his friend, his lips still stretched in a smile. He had smiled just two days before like that at Aaron. He turned his head and his
gaze again collided with Aaron’s.

  “I am sorry,” Aaron repeated in a softer voice.

  Nathaniel frowned, as if he were trying to make something out. He gave a stiff little nod and then he stepped outside, leaving Aaron and his kitchen.

  HE WAS wiping up the kitchen table, long maple planks scored like a picnic table with dents and carved initials when a shadow fell at the door. He looked up and there stood Nathaniel, his hands full of dishes. He used to return them, but just lately, no, he hadn’t done that.

  He hesitated and Aaron went to him, taking the dirty plates.

  “I can scrape out the stuff for your, uh, recycling.”

  Aaron blinked. “Recycling?”

  “The stuff you put on that heap of earth in the vegetable garden,” Nathaniel said.

  “Oh, that is a compost heap. Next year I will scatter it on the garden,” Aaron said. “Better tasting vegetables.”

  “That’s hard to believe. Your tomatoes are really great.”

  Aaron dropped his gaze, basking a little now. He knew he shouldn’t, but he liked that Nathaniel had noticed the superior quality of the stock he grew. He hadn’t even been there a full year yet since he’d hired on at the ranch in February.

  “The pail is under the counter,” he said, even though it was unnecessary since they’d done this before. He stacked the plates by the sink but then paused to watch Nathaniel as he began the chore. He was so easy to watch, the easy swing of his hips as he dipped to drop leavings in the pail and the way his chaps seemed to emphasize where he was a man.

  Nathaniel looked over his shoulder at Aaron and then huffed out a breath. “Okay, are you homophobic?”

  Aaron blinked. It sounded like one of the ingredients in the mix he disapproved of. “I don’t like chemicals,” he said.

  Nathaniel’s too-serious face cracked into a smile. “Oh, Aaron. Do I even ask?”

  Aaron guessed this was one of the things he didn’t understand. He had picked up as much as he could, but it was a like a quilt with gaps in the sewing. “I don’t like that you stay away now,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Samuel misses you.”