Home Before Sundown Page 21

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hall. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  “I expect you’d do well enough. You’re a very capable young man. I thought so from the first day I saw you. I was grateful you became friends with my Bart. He’s a good boy, but if you hadn’t turned up, I’m afraid he would have got mixed up with the wrong crowd and become like his pa, drinking and carrying on.” She cleared her throat. “Well, now, I’ll get that broth started for your mama.”

  George stared after her. Was she serious? Bart would have carried on? Who with? Women? That thought didn’t bother him too much, but the idea that Bart—his Bart—would have gotten involved with any man who wasn’t him…George knew it was ridiculous, but he planned to have a talk with Bart. They were going to get this straightened out right now.

  * * * *

  They were sitting out on the stoop. George cradled the baby and encouraged him to drink from the bottle. Bart sat at his side, his arm warm against George’s.

  “I…uh…want to talk to you about something.”

  From the corner of his eye, George could see Bart lean back. “What can I do you for, Georgie?”

  “I was talking with your mama earlier. She mentioned your papa.”

  Bart sighed. “Pa. He was the best man he could be, but he liked his whiskey a bit too much.”

  “What about you?”

  “Do I like whiskey? No, I’m more a beer man.”

  “Papa taught me how to drink wine.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Although after Papa left for the war, it had become a luxury they could no longer afford.

  “I never cared much for the taste of wine.”

  “I do. Maybe one day I’ll grow my own grapes and make my own wine.”

  “Did you get drunk?”

  “What?”

  “I’d have to go down to the barroom to bring Pa home. Am I gonna have to do the same for you?”

  George stared at him, then blinked and shook his head. “No. There are too many other things we need to spend the money on.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be. I can see why you’d worry about it.” It hurt George’s heart to think of his friend having such a heavy burden on his shoulders. If Bart’s papa had died when Bart was ten, how much younger had Bart been when he’d had to go out at night to bring him home?

  Bart stared up at the stars that spangled the night sky. Fortunately, George could see Bart was unaware of his thoughts.

  “What else did Ma have to say about him?”

  George worried his lower lip. Papa had always been faithful, first to George’s birth mother, and then to Mama. “She didn’t come right out and say it, but she sort of insinuated that your papa ran around on her.” He didn’t understand how a man could cheat on the person he loved.

  Bart met his gaze for what seemed like a long stretch of time, then looked away, but not before George saw the sorrow in his eyes. “That about broke Ma’s heart, that he didn’t feel she was enough for him.”

  “I’ll never do that to you, querido,” George whispered. He shifted the baby onto his shoulder and rubbed his back, working to bring up a bubble of air.

  “Neither would I, hummingbird.”

  The moment was interrupted by the burp that erupted from the tiny body, followed by a splash of spit up.

  George laughed, and Bart leaned toward him, rested his forehead against George’s, and laughed with him.

  “Come on. I’d better change my shirt.” There was a wet sound, and an unmistakable odor filled the air between them. He exchanged a wry glance with Bart. “And this little bit needs a clean diaper.”

  * * * *

  Mama never fully recovered from Little Thomas’s birth. Just when she seemed about to regain her strength, she’d have a relapse.

  Mrs. Hall looked after her and the children while George drove the hansom cab for Doggett’s Cab Company. After they’d moved to East 21st Street, George had had no choice but to get a job closer to home; Mr. Hudson’s carriage house had been too far to travel to on a daily basis. Mr. Hudson had been sorry to see George go, but he’d written him an excellent letter of reference.

  Even Mary Beth seemed to be willing to help out, often bringing soup that her mama had prepared.

  It went on for almost a year, until one day Mama just couldn’t get out of bed. That was when George really looked at her, and he realized how sallow her skin had become and how brittle her hair.

  He brought Dr. Choate to see her, and while he spoke cheerfully, afterward, he took George aside.

  “I don’t understand it. She’s come through her other pregnancies so easily.” He shook his head. “There’s no typhus going around, no cholera. I’m at a complete loss.”

  “Do you think it’s because Papa is gone?”

  Dr. Choate ran a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled. “That’s a possibility, I suppose, but she loves her children, all of them. I’m sorry, young George. There’s nothing I can do for her.”

  George wallowed hard. “Thank you for coming to see her. Is there anything we can do to make her more comfortable?”

  “Can you get her out of this tenement for a while?”

  “I can take her out to the country for about a week, I reckon.”

  “A month would be better.”

  “A month?” His boss might not be happy about it, but the hell with him. “Okay, I’ll see about renting a house for a month. And maybe I should get one that comes with a housekeeper. Mama won’t be able to do any cooking or cleaning.” She couldn’t even look after the girls or the baby.

  “Good. And the little ones?”

  “They’ll come with us.” As if he’d leave them behind for any length of time.

  “Very good. I’ll mix up a tincture I’ve had some success with and send it to you. It might help.” He shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Choate.” George paid him and saw him out of the apartment.

  * * * *

  It took George a while, but he found a small house in Queens and set about renting it for a month. As for his plan to hire a housekeeper, Mrs. Hall wouldn’t hear of it.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said, with a look that dared him to object.

  “But who’ll take care of your children?”

  “Mary Margaret does well enough. And Bart will be home in the evening. So are we agreed?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good.” She stroked his cheek. “I’ll make sure Mary Margaret has everything she needs and pack a carpetbag.”

  George didn’t care for Doggett, who didn’t treat his horses well and who persisted in treating him like a kid who didn’t know the front end of a horse from its rear, so he went to Mr. Hudson to see about renting a horse and wagon.

  “I’ll need it for a month,” he explained to the man who had treated him well for so long. The wagon would carry them, their belongings, and the supplies they’d need until they got settled in. “Do you happen to have any kind of bedding that would make the wagon bed more comfortable for Mama? Dr. Choate doesn’t…” He swallowed hard. “He doesn’t think she’ll have a lot of time.”

  “I’ll find something for her. I’m sorry she’s not doing well, George.” He patted George’s shoulder. “Would you like to take Outlaw?”

  “Yes, please.” The paint gelding was getting on in years, but he had the smoothest gait of the horses in Mr. Hudson’s stable, and he’d still be able to do the job well. George reached for Papa’s money belt, but Mr. Hudson put his hand on George’s.

  “I can wait until you get home.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How are you getting along with Doggett?”

  “Okay, I reckon.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He won’t let me take out any of the cabs. He thinks I’m too young.”

  “Jesus, the man’s a fool. I told him in your letter of reference you were one of my best drivers.”

  George hunched a s
houlder. He didn’t tell Mr. Hudson what Doggett had insinuated—that Mr. Hudson had traded that letter for George fellating him. And from the way Doggett regarded him, George had a hunch he would have preferred George doing him like that.

  If Doggett had tried, George would have left him with the stump of his prick and spat out the piece he’d bitten off.

  George shook Mr. Hudson’s hand, harnessed Outlaw and hitched him to the wagon, then returned to East 21st Street. They’d leave first thing in the morning.

  * * * *

  “Georgie! Georgie!”

  He hopped down and caught up his sisters in a hug.

  Noelle and Charlie were excited about going out to the country. Little Thomas had no opinion on the matter, even though they’d be spending his first birthday there.

  “I’ll keep an eye on La Gata,” Bart told him.

  “Thank you.”

  Bart frowned. “I wish I could go with you.”

  “I wish you could too.”

  “Would you mind if I came out to visit for a day?”

  “Are you joshing? I’d love it. Come when you can, as often as you can. Here.” George made him take a twenty dollar piece in spite of his objections. “If you say no, God knows when we’ll be able to spend some time together.”

  “It’s too much.”

  “Not for you. If you have anything left afterward, spend it on your mama.”

  “You talked me into it.”

  “I thought I might.”

  They went into the tenement, and Noelle and Charlie skipped ahead of them into their apartment.

  And because George and Bart were alone for the moment, they were able to share a brief kiss.

  Chapter 35

  The time the family spent in Queens was worth what George had to pay for the bungalow. It was larger than their cottage in Chelsea, and everyone—even Mrs. Hall—had their own bedroom, although Mama insisted the baby stay with her. The property had a garden at the back, along with a grapevine, and there was a shed for Outlaw and a small pasture where he could graze or roll in the dust. There was a big old oak tree at the front of the property, with a swing hanging from one of the branches, and the girls got to play in the sun, Little Thomas began walking, and color came back into Mama’s cheeks.

  Color came into George’s cheeks, too, when he saw the little smile on Mama’s face as she observed him and Bart the first time Bart came to visit. George had hoped Bart would arrive sooner, but they’d been in the country for a couple of weeks before he could get there. Bart had written about the new job Mr. Wagner had put him in charge of—Bart had been proud and so had George—but because of it, Bart wouldn’t be able to get out to Queens until Little Thomas’s birthday on August 16.

  “I’m gonna show Bart around.” There were woods nearby surrounding two lakes that connected to each other.

  “All right, but remember to be back for Little Thomas’s party.”

  “We will.”

  “Why don’t you ask Mrs. Hall to make some sandwiches?” Mama asked. “You can have a picnic.”

  “I’d like that,” Bart said hopefully.

  “All right. I’ll just—”

  “Can we go too?” Charlie demanded.

  “Not today, pequeña.”

  “Mama!”

  “Charlotte Olivia Pettigrew! You heard your brother,” Mama said, nipping a temper tantrum in the bud. “But if you’re a good girl, then we’ll all go tomorrow, and perhaps George will take you swimming.”

  “Yay!”

  “I hope you won’t mind sharing a room with me,” George said, for the benefit of the family and not because he thought Bart would object.

  “Nope.”

  “Let’s put your carpetbag in my bedroom.” George led Bart to the room at the back of the house. “You can change into something more appropriate for gallivanting.”

  “Ah. We’re going gallivanting?”

  “You could say that.”

  “All right, then. I will. We’re going gallivanting. And it sounds like a good idea.” Bart waited for George to close the door before he pulled him into his arms and kissed him breathless. “I know it’s only been two weeks, but I’ve missed you.”

  “I missed you too, querido.” It felt so good to be in Bart’s arms again, to feel his solid weight against him. He pressed a final kiss against Bart’s throat, then let him go. “I’ll ask your mama to get those sandwiches ready.”

  “Okay.”

  George paused at the door and swallowed heavily as he watched Bart strip off his traveling clothes, fold them, and set them aside. He reached into his carpetbag for a cotton shirt and a pair of dungarees, and his drawers clung to the curve of his ass.

  “Oh God, Bart.” George was back beside him in one long step, and he wrapped his arms around Bart and held on.

  “I know, hummingbird. I know.”

  * * * *

  They carried the basket containing sandwiches, a pail of beer, and a blanket between them. They shared grins whenever their fingers came into contact with each other.

  “It’s not too far, maybe half a mile or so,” George murmured.

  “I don’t mind, as long as I have a worthwhile reward waiting for me at the end of this hike.”

  “You’d better believe you will.” He grinned at Bart. “I’ve been there a time or two with the girls and Little Thomas so Mama could have some time alone to rest.”

  “Speaking of your ma, she looks good.”

  “Do you really reckon so?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I wasn’t sure if it was just wishful thinking on my part. Dr. Choate didn’t think she had much longer, but he suggested taking her out here might be a good idea.”

  “How’s she feeling?”

  “She says better than she has in a while. She seems to like it, and I’ve been wondering if I should buy a plot of land around here, maybe raise some beef cattle.”

  “Not horses?”

  George looked away, struggling for a moment to keep his upper lip from quivering. “If I still had Bella and Salida,” he murmured.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

  “It doesn’t matter, querido. It would take quite a while to build a reputation for the stud. We’ll…we’d have to go with cattle.”

  “Then that’s what you’ll do.” Bart rubbed his back. “Could you afford it?”

  “Probably not. I don’t have much of the money left from selling Bella and Salida. But it would be nice. Mama, the girls, Little Thomas, me…you?”

  “You’d want me?”

  “Oh, Bart, why wouldn’t I?”

  “I don’t know what I could do to bring in money. There isn’t as much call for homes to be built out here. Not much call for any kind of carpentry.”

  “Maybe one day…” George regarded him with some surprise. “Wait. You looked into that?”

  “Yeah. I…I don’t like you so far away from me.”

  “Bart…” He sighed. “It was a dumb dream.”

  “Not dumb. I wish it would come true.” Bart looked around. “Where is this place? Have we reached it yet?”

  “We’re almost there. A few days ago, I found a spot that I thought would be perfect for the two of us.” He smiled at Bart, but inside he regretted the fact they couldn’t live together, whether it was here or the valley in the Dakota Territory.

  Bart took the basket from him and slid his free arm around him, and George liked that. A glance showed no one was nearby, and he angled his face up so Bart could kiss him, and he liked that even more.

  George leaned back and smiled into Bart’s eyes. “We’re here.”

  “Huh?” Bart looked around and sucked in a breath.

  “Our picnic spot. Do you like?”

  “Do I…? Oh, hummingbird, this is amazing.” He looked at the lake that wasn’t more than a few yards from where they stood beneath an oak tree.

  “I’m so glad you think so. We can go swimming later. Take out the blanket and spread it
under this tree.”

  While Bart did that, George reached into the basket and began emptying it of the sandwiches wrapped in paper, the pail of beer, and the cookies Mrs. Hall had made that would be their dessert.

  Once Bart had smoothed out the blanket, he toed off his shoes and sat down cross-legged. George did the same and handed him a sandwich.

  “It’s roast beef with horseradish.”

  “Mmm. Ma always had a hand with that.” Bart took a bite and chewed industriously.

  George tore off a piece of the bread’s crust and tossed it to a nearby squirrel while he watched Bart. You’re a stupid man, he admonished himself. All Bart’s doing is eating a sandwich, and here you are, wanting to tear off his clothes and make love to him.

  He cleared his throat. “Some beer?” He offered the pail to Bart.

  “Beer, Mr. Pettigrew? Are you trying to get me tipsy so you can have your wicked way with me?”

  George ducked his head, then grinned at Bart through his eyelashes. “Yeah?”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Then take a drink. We can finish the sandwiches later. I…uh…was wondering if we could make love.”

  “Haven’t we already?”

  “I want to be inside you.”

  Bart seemed nervous, and that made George nervous. They hadn’t done that before. Well, there hadn’t been enough privacy or many occasions when he and Bart could love each other, but now that the opportunity had arisen, he intended for them to take advantage of it. Especially since Bart had seemed to enjoy it when he stroked a wet finger over his hole.

  “Unless you’d rather not?

  Bart smiled into his eyes. “If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have brought this with me.” He held up a small bottle. “Olive oil.”

  “Where did that come from?”

  “Mr. Martinelli’s grocery store.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  Bart patted his pocket.

  “You looked so uncertain.” George blew out a breath. “I was afraid you were having second thoughts.”

  “I was afraid you’d think I was being too forward.”