On the Trail to Moonlight Gulch (3 page)

“Mamma always says my sisters and me take everything for granted.”

“Will I have the pleasure of meeting your sisters? Do they still live in Chicago?”

“One’s married in Washington, DC, and the other lives in Springfield,” Tory said. “She’s married to a teacher. They run a school together. I’m the only one left at home.”

“You don’t mind living with your parents?”

“No, not really. There aren’t that many places available in the city right now, anyway. And my parents need help to run the bakery and boarding house.”

“What about the apartment above your bakery?” Joseph raised his eyebrows. “Can’t you move in there? It would give you some privacy, at least, away from all those boarders.”

“We rent it to a couple from Peoria.”

“Can’t you ask them to leave?”

Tory enjoyed the tender yet masculine tone to Joseph’s voice. His intelligence flowed unabashedly, without the weight of seriousness. “I suppose we could ask them,” Tory said. “I never really thought much about it. Do you think I should move in?”

Joseph tilted his head toward the buildings silhouetted against the powder-blue sky. “Perhaps I should.”

“You?”

“If Father wants me to stay here for an extended period, I suppose I’ll have to find a place. If it’s as difficult to find housing here like you and everyone say, I might not have any other choice.”

Tory’s heart quickened. Saliva evaporated from his mouth. “You… you think you’ll get to stay? For an extended period?”

“I don’t know.” Joseph kept his mouth taut, his head held upright. “I’ll have to wait and see. It’ll be nice to have someplace, just in case. I like the room I have now, but a man needs privacy, don’t you think? And I do like your neighborhood.”

“I’m sure arrangements can be made for you to stay in the apartment,” Tory said.

“Do you think the couple you rent it to would be ready to leave?”

Tory tried to ease the excitement in his voice. “I’m sure they are. They’ve lived there almost two years. I don’t talk to them much, but they must be on a wait list for someplace. Maybe they’re having a place built. The apartment really isn’t so bad. It has a kitchen, and two bedrooms, and plenty of sunlight. And Pappa even installed a water closet, although it’s very small.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Joseph said in a sober and reflective tone. “Depends on how well things go here, of course.”

“I can’t imagine they won’t,” Tory said.

“Look here.” Joseph stopped before a construction site. “They’re preparing the foundation for one of those steel-framed buildings. It’s for a new hotel. See what that sign says? ‘The Heathcliff House: Ten Stories of Magnificence.’”

They watched the workmen strategically lay dynamite sticks into holes drilled into the dirt. They then rushed into a hut near Tory and Joseph. A man shouted something. Seconds later, a chain of implosions ripped a hole in the earth. The street rocked. Yet scant debris spread beyond the construction zone.

The blast had frightened Tory. Fire, even the fleeting kind that came from explosives, terrified him. He had not wanted to show that fear to Joseph. While the men had prepared the dynamite, he’d willed himself to keep from grimacing, dreading the inevitable. Even after the dust from the implosion had settled, his body shuddered with horror. He breathed in relief that Joseph hadn’t noticed.

“That was something, wasn’t it?” Joseph said as they continued walking down State Street.

“Yes,” Tory said. “My parents are proud that a Swede invented dynamite.”

“Such a simple concept,” Joseph commented. “The ideas of great thinkers always seem so obvious once they come up with them.”

They walked along, shoulder to shoulder, while Tory pointed out interesting sights and mentioned what he knew about the growing city. Joseph seemed to adhere to his every word. They browsed the goods in a department store as large as one city block and as tall as six stories. Tory mentioned Marshall Field & Company was one of the largest stores in the world.

“I’m so glad that I have the chance to tour with a native,” Joseph said once they returned to the street. “I did want to thank you for saving me.”

“Saving you?”

“From Miss Schuster,” Joseph said. “Not that I would have minded her company, but I fear she might not have known the little things that make touring interesting, like all that you told me about the department store and the buildings and other things.”

A tinge of sympathy had poked Tory that morning watching Clair Schuster mope at the breakfast table and later slump out the door to her factory job, knowing that she was unhappy she couldn’t spend the day with Joseph. But now he wondered if she had said something in retaliation to Joseph for his choosing to tour the city with him on Saturday rather than with her on Sunday. Although improperly forthright at times, she did not strike him as the sort of woman who sought vengeance. But one never knew.

“Did she do or say something to upset you?”

Joseph snorted. “No, nothing like that.”

Relief softened the strain in Torsten’s limbs. “A lot of women like her have moved to the city. They’re as common as bees in summer.”

“She’s not quite my type,” Joseph said.

What was his type? In the parlor yesterday, Joseph had mentioned he was single and hadn’t met “the right person.” But did that mean he wasn’t dating anyone? “Do you have a girl back in New York?” Tory dared to ask.

Joseph, his firm mouth offset by his well-groomed mustache, waited a moment before answering. “No, I can’t say that I do,” he said flatly. “What about you? Surely you must have one, or maybe two or three stashed around Chicago somewhere?”

“Not me.” Tory shook his head.

“But I find that hard to believe.”

Torsten flushed. Had that been a cryptic response? He sensed something. Something emerging between the two of them. What had Joseph van Werckhoven alluded to when he expressed disbelief that Tory courted no women? What did he mask behind that grin?

Joseph held that same mischievous smile for another block. Sounds of traffic and people and the smells of smoke and food receded into the background as they walked. For a moment, the only reality for Tory consisted of him and his new friend. The city faded to a mere backdrop to their private world, a distant array of colors, smells, noises.

Had Tory really understood Joseph? Many times Tory had come across men who spoke in puzzling tongues. About the only men who made their intentions clear were the ones who ventured to the South Side cabaret. Joseph, too refined, would never behave so brutishly. Yet Tory wouldn’t have minded a soft touch from him, a simple gesture of friendship.

Joseph might as well have read Tory’s mind. A tingling burn raced down Tory’s arm when Joseph placed his hand on his shoulder. He could feel the transference of heat even through his wool frock.

“Oh, look,” Joseph said, pointing across an intersection to a street sign on a building. “Van Buren Street. That’s where the family’s drugstore will go. I believe that’s it there, inside the lobby of that new building. Father said it would be a tall one.”

“What do you say.” Tory followed Joseph’s gaze upward along the twelve-story building, his eyes squinting into the sun. The exterior of the building appeared on the verge of completion. Except for on the lobby level, workers had yet to install the windows.

“Come,” Joseph said. “Let’s get a peek inside.”

They crossed the street, dodging carriages and pedestrians. The lobby was an empty shell. A few workmen were installing what looked like a reception counter. Joseph pointed out the two elevators, although after inspecting them they concluded no one had wired them yet. Next, Joseph escorted Tory through wide doors where the drugstore would be. Interior work for the store would begin Monday morning, Joseph said. He’d oversee the effort, which was what had lured him to Chicago. In the back, away from the windows, where the light grew dimmer, Joseph again placed his hand on Tory’s shoulder.

“What do you say, Torsten? Do you like the store? Keep in mind it’s still under construction. Use your imagination.”

Tory swallowed hard, trying to ignore the quiver Joseph’s touch gave him. “Such a big place.” He steadied his voice. “I think you have a fine location. I’m sure everything’ll look wonderful once it’s done.”

“It’s much larger than I imagined,” Joseph said in a hushed voice, as if he were thinking of nothing but success and magnificence. “This might be our largest store yet. Father made a grand find. No reason why this one shouldn’t be the best one yet. Yes, I can indeed imagine myself staying in Chicago for an extended period, perhaps indefinitely. Won’t that be grand, Torsten?”

A ruckus outside startled the two men, and their mutual smiles faded in a flash. Tory and Joseph hurried to the front. Outside, a hansom cab had collided with a vegetable cart. The cart owner, standing among his scattered melons and tomatoes, spit curses in Italian while the cab driver hurled back insults of his own. Tory understood enough Swedish to flush over the cabby’s words.

Leaving behind one of the ugly sides to a fast-growing city, Tory led Joseph back onto the street, farther along Van Buren, toward the Chicago River, where he had read in the
Chicago Tribune
about a carnival on Taylor Street. He guided Joseph through a maze of people and vendor carts until they came to a large red-and-white big top.

The after work crowd from surrounding factories and offices filled the many kiosks at the carnival. The smells of hotdogs, pretzels, and roasted corn made Tory’s stomach rumble. He suggested they get something to eat. They bought a bag of peanut brittle from a vendor wearing a clown outfit and sat on a bench to people-watch. Organ music grinded in the background.

“What a wonderful and unexpected treat,” Joseph said, laughing. “I haven’t attended a carnival since I was a boy. It reminds me of Coney Island.”

“Once the weather warms, it’ll be much nicer.”

“It’s perfect the way it is.” Joseph gazed at Tory. Tory flushed. Their hands brushed each other as they shared the bag of peanut brittle. But Joseph appeared unfazed.

Flocks of pigeons gathered by their feet. Tory tossed them pieces of brittle. Joseph seemed amused. To Tory, their moment together was worth all the peanut brittle in the world.

Joseph spotted a game called Pitch Out, and, tossing the remaining crumbs in his hand onto the ground where the pigeons swarmed them, he encouraged Tory to follow him.

“Step up, step up,” the vendor cried. “Get a baseball in the hole, win a stuffed animal. Five cents for five tries. Step up.”

“I’ll have a go at it.” Joseph handed the vendor a nickel.

The first four throws came close to entering the hole cut in the catcher’s glove, but on his fifth and final throw, the baseball entered the hole squarely. Joseph and Tory cheered. The vendor tossed Joseph a stuffed bear. With a grin, Joseph handed the prize to Tory. “For being such a grand host,” he said.

Tory simpered. Cradling the bear, he held his tongue about his prized baseball skills. Tory, who played baseball with his chums at least once a week, most likely would have made each of the five throws. He valued Joseph’s kindness more than his own ego.

“There’s my favorite ride.” Tory pointed to the mine train rising in the distance on the edge of the river. “I had no idea they had one of those. I rode my first one last year in Wicker Park.”

“Well, then, come on.” Joseph grabbed Tory’s arm and ushered him along. After waiting in line for ten minutes, they paid the attendant four cents and climbed inside the car. A steam-powered pulley lifted them along the wooden track. From the top, the sprawl of the city astonished them. They both took off their derbies. Tory covered the stuffed bear with his hat and latched onto his elbows in anticipation of the freefall. In an instant, gravity raced them down the first and largest drop. Wind whipped at their faces. They rolled over two bunny hops until reaching a slow stop.

“I have to say,” Joseph said as they climbed out of the car, “I hadn’t expected this much fun when I set off for Chicago Thursday night. I thought it would all be dull work.”

Tory’s heart kindled while he absorbed Joseph’s soft gaze. The nippy air seemed insignificant against the warm thoughtfulness flowing through him. They explored more of the carnival, and with a gentle tug, Tory suggested they best return home, since he knew his mother was preparing a special goose for supper.

As they headed home, Tory used the bustle of pedestrians as an excuse to brush against Joseph. The more he bumped into him, the more Joseph seemed to reciprocate by leaning closer. Eventually, he and Tory walked up Market Street with their arms hooked around each other’s like old chums.

Like the two friends depicted in Walt Whitman’s poem.

Chapter 3

L
ONG
after the last lantern in the house had been extinguished, Tory sat by the open window in his bedroom and stared at the glowing, pulsating city. He barely noticed the chilly air or the waxing moon that cast deep shadows along the alley. Doubt, mixed with exhilaration, stirred him. Had he read Joseph correctly? Had he only imagined that Joseph was interested in more than friendship?