by Bonnie Dee
“At least it ain’t quite the rat’s warren as Shoreditch,” Jody remarked as they wove through the throng in the shadows of tall apartment buildings. Not to say he didn’t spot a rat or two scurrying along the walls or dashing into trash-piled alleys. But London’s slums had been cobbled together over centuries without rhyme or reason. New York was new enough that the brick buildings at least lined the street in an orderly fashion. The windows of the shops on the bottom floor of each building were wiped clean and their entryways swept. Metal-railed balconies above were festooned with drying laundry and adorned with plants.
Cyril held Dieter’s shoulder, partly to make sure the boy didn’t dart off again. He gave it a comforting pat. “When was the last time you saw your father, Dieter? No doubt you are anxious to be reunited with him.”
The lad shrugged. “No Vater.” He held up three fingers, indicating the number of years since Mueller had gone to America. If the man had left when Dieter was five or so, the boy probably had little memory of him.
Jody had little recollection of the mother who had birthed him but soon abandoned him, so he appreciated Dieter’s fear of leaving a loving mother to live with a strange man. Jody punched his shoulder lightly. “Hey. He’s sent for you, so he wants you. You’ll be all right.”
Dieter lifted an eyebrow and spat on the pavement. “No America. I hate.”
Jody snorted at his eloquent assessment. This boy reminded him of himself at that age. And then another minor miracle occurred. Dieter smiled back at him.
Finding an address in a row of buildings haphazardly numbered took a bit of time, but at last they entered the tenement where Mr. Mueller lived. The stench of sauerkraut and bleach filled the hallway and a mumble of German oozed through thin walls. As they climbed a stairway, Cyril leaned close to whisper, “What if we don’t find him?”
Hearing his fear spoken aloud made Jody even more nervous. “Don’t borrow trouble. He’ll be here.”
Since there was no flat number written on the paper, they began knocking on doors. Tenants regarded them with suspicious, even hostile eyes before shaking their heads. It seemed no one knew of a Frank Mueller. Jody’s worry took root and grew.
On the third floor, he knocked on one of the last remaining doors. A child opened it and gaped at the strangers. “Ma!” he bellowed. “Somebody’s here.”
“Tell ’em to go away. I’m busy,” came a voice from inside.
“Please, madam, if you’ll give us just a moment of your time,” Cyril called.
A woman emerged from the other room, tucking strands of hair beneath her kerchief and wiping her sweating face. She came up behind her son, who was pulling faces at Dieter, and folded her arms. “What is it?”
Jody explained the boy’s situation. When he had finished, the woman stared closely at Dieter, who had his fingers in his ears, his eyes popped, and his tongue stuck out. “Mein Gott. The spitting image of his Vater.”
“You know Frank Mueller?”
“He was my neighbor. He and some other fellows shared that flat.” She pointed across the hall. “I am a widow, so Frank sometimes came over and fixed things that were broken. I would cook a meal for him…and the others,” she hastened to add. “Simple neighborly kindness. Nothing more.”
His mistress, Jody guessed. “Where is he now?”
“Down the street, last I knew,” she said wistfully. “I don’t see him no more.”
She described Mueller’s new location, two buildings west, and Jody thanked her.
Cyril bowed over her work-roughened hand. “You are a saint, madam. Thank you for helping reunite this boy with his father.”
“Sure,” she mumbled dazedly, staring at her hand as she closed the door.
“Such a gentleman,” Jody teased. “You’ve brightened her day with your courtesy.”
“I meant it. She was of great help to us. I certainly feel more confident now about the success of our mission.”
Jody nodded but continued to worry. Workers lost their jobs and moved on all the time. Or they might find Mueller only to learn he was a drunken lout incapable of caring for his son. Jody couldn’t leave the kid someplace like that, but he couldn’t continue to look after him when he didn’t know his own plans for the future. Blast! This was what came of letting people wriggle their way into one’s heart—too much trouble.
They left the gloom of the building to find the outdoors still bright, although the sun was low in the sky. The crowd in the street had thinned out as the day neared an end. As they walked toward the sunset, Dieter began to lag behind. The little fellow seemed ready to collapse from exhaustion. Jody sympathized.
“We’re nearly there. You will be with your father soon,” Cyril comforted him.
“Want Mutter,” he whined.
Again, Cyril knelt before him. Only this time, he gathered the boy into his arms and hugged him while murmuring the lie that everything would be all right. It wouldn’t be, Jody knew, not for a child who would very likely never see his mother again. But Cyril’s reassurances lifted the boy’s spirits enough to keep him going until they reached their destination.
After several knocks, a bearded fellow opened the door and asked gruffly, “Whaddya want?”
“Does Mr. Frank Mueller reside here?” Cyril enquired with such stuffiness, it nearly made Jody laugh.
The fellow’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s askin’?”
Jody put a hand on Dieter’s shoulder. “This is his son.”
The black-bearded man’s expression cleared from threatening to sunny. “Mueller! Come here. Somebody you’re gonna wanna see.”
Seconds later, a tall, blond, broad-shouldered man filled the doorframe. His gaze skimmed over Cyril and Jody to land on Dieter. His eyes widened and he gasped, “Dieter!”
He knelt and reached for the child, who backed behind Jody’s legs. Mueller looked up at the two men. “Who are you? Where is Hilda? I’ve been to the dock nearly every day to see if the ship has arrived. What has happened?”
“Landed yesterday,” Jody replied. “I’m sorry to say your wife did not pass the physical. She asked me to bring Dieter to you.”
Mueller rose to his full height, his hands slightly clenched. “What do you mean? What is wrong with her? And who are you?”
“Just a fellow traveler. She begged me to see the boy safely to you, which I have done.” Jody steered Dieter in front of him and gave him a nudge toward his father.
“It seems her lungs are not sound,” Cyril explained. “She is quarantined and will be sent back to Europe soon.”
“Then she is still at the hospital. I must find her there.” Mueller appeared ready to swim the harbor and charge the walls of the holding facility.
“First, perhaps, you should reacquaint yourself with your son,” Cyril suggested gently. “He has been torn from his mother’s arms and is understandably upset.”
The man wiped a hand over his furrowed brow, clearly torn between making his son feel welcome and going to his wife.
Jody cleared his throat. “If you need more time, I suppose we could continue to watch the boy while you contact immigration.” Why in the world was he offering to become more involved when his promise to Mrs. Mueller was fulfilled? He blamed Cyril’s influence for his softness.
“No!” Mueller took Dieter’s hand and pulled him away from Jody. “I thank you for your help, but I will look after my own child.” He called, “Schmidt,” and his black-bearded associate appeared beside him. “Take the boy and make him something to eat. I must go to my wife.”
“Sure thing. Hello, little fellow. You like potato latkes? I bet you do.”
The stranger started to lead Dieter away. The boy cast a beseeching look at Jody.
“Best of luck, lad,” Jody said with a smile. “And stop running off, all right?”
Cyril added, “You are safe here. Du bist ein gutter Junge. Mogest du ein gutes Leben haben.”
There was nothing more to say and no reason to ask if they might check on Dieter
from time to time. Mueller closed the door.
“What did you say to him?” Jody asked.
“‘You’re a good boy. May you have a good life.’ And I pray he will.”
“Better than some, not as good as others, I expect. He’ll be all right.”
Yet Jody felt loss, sadness, and a sense that he hadn’t done enough as he and Cyril made their way to the Happy Traveler Inn. It put a dark edge on his joy at being reunited with Cyril—but not so dark that he couldn’t celebrate their reunion.
Chapter Twenty-five
The Happy Traveler was not the finest accommodation, but after a day of trudging around the city, Cyril could find no fault with the peeling wallpaper, stained carpets or musty odor pervading the air. After receiving a key at the front desk and locating their room, Cyril closed the door on the world outside. Alone at last! He had been longing for privacy since the moment he laid eyes on Jody at the waterfront. He threw off his hat and coat and held out his arms. “Come here.”
Jody walked into them.
A ship coming into port, Cyril thought. Or a child finding its parents’ loving arms. This is what home is and what life is all about. Then he stopped thinking as he snuggled his chin against Jody’s shoulder and inhaled his scent. The solidity of muscle and bone convinced him this man was not a mirage who would vanish if he looked away. They were together at last, two hearts beating only inches apart, breaths syncing in the same rhythm. Outside the room, distant voices murmured, the inn groaned like a tired old man, and street traffic made an ever-present clatter although the sun had set. But inside the room and in the circle of their embrace, peace reigned.
For long minutes they remained swaying slightly like a dancing couple at the end of a long evening. “Are you tired?” Cyril murmured. “Let us undress and lie down.”
Jody pulled back to give him a saucy grin.
“To rest,” Cyril admonished him. “The other can wait, for we’ve all the time in the world to get to it. As for me, I am quite exhausted. All I want to do is sleep in your arms.”
“Very well, but in the morning, I plan to give you a rogering you won’t soon forget.”
“I shall look forward to it.” The mere mention of what Jody would do to him made his cock stir. Perhaps there was no need to wait for morning after all, Cyril thought.
They pushed together the two narrow cots, making them into one large bed, and stripped to climb underneath thin sheets and scratchy woolen blankets. Jody’s long limbs wrapped around Cyril and bound him close. How wonderful to snuggle against warm skin and peer into Jody’s beautiful eyes, so near that he could study the varying striations of blue.
“Did I ever remember to tell you what a handsome fellow you are?”
Jody smiled. “Not that I recall, but I can see it in your gaze, which makes me puff up rather like a peacock.”
“But I want you to understand it is not your features alone I admire, for I’m certain you’ve received that sort of appreciation from other men. It is this.” Cyril clapped a hand to Jody’s chest and felt his heart beating steadily. “The way you put yourself out to care for Dieter was touching. You might not wish to admit it, or believe in it, but you are a good man.”
Jody’s cheeks reddened and he dropped his gaze. “Naw. I only thought What would Cyril do? then I did it. But I admit I grew fairly fond of the little chap in a short time. It was hard to leave him today. I hope he’ll be all right.”
“I trust he will be.” Cyril pressed a kiss to Jody’s lips, and they lost track of time as one kiss led to another, which led to hands mapping each other’s bodies.
Silken skin cloaked a framework of muscle and sinew the power of which vibrated beneath Cyril’s touch. How wonderfully alive and real was Jody’s body. And how astonishing the way his hands worked their magic to entice shivers and groans from Cyril.
The day’s exhaustion fled as they slowly moved each other toward ecstasy with kisses and strokes and whispers of encouragement. It can be like this every day! Cyril rejoiced as his tension exploded in a blinding shower of sparks. For as long as we both wish to be together, we may share a bed and our lives. He could not imagine a time when he would not want Jody in his life and only prayed that Jody felt the same.
Much later, after both were satisfied to completion, Cyril lay with Jody draped across him, head on his chest. He stroked the other man’s hair and studied the way tendrils grew from the nape of his neck. Happiness warned him not to disturb the moment, but Cyril could not refrain from asking the question burning in his mind.
“What are your plans? Do you still want to travel west?”
Jody shrugged. “If you’re going to open a florist shop in the city, I can assist you.”
“But you’ve said you’re tired of city life.”
“Doesn’t matter. If this is the best place for you to start your business, then we’ll settle here.”
Cyril stilled his hand to cradle the back of Jody’s head. “I won’t have you accommodate or defer to me. I need to know your desires, and then we will come to some compromise that suits us both. That is what partners do. Or what they ought to do, at any rate.”
Jody lifted his head, propped his chin on folded arms, and regarded Cyril. “All I want is to be with you. I don’t care much where.”
The sentiment melted his heart, but Cyril would not give in to Jody’s catering. The man had spent his life molding himself to suit other people’s desires. It was important for him to realize he was an equal partner and his wishes mattered.
“You once described to me a dream of living on a farm. Together, we might have just enough to buy a small plot of land,” Cyril pointed out. “Somewhere outside the city where there is fresh air and room to expand acreage if all goes well.”
“A farm.” Jody breathed the words like a caress. “But what would you do?”
“I can grow more than flowers, I expect. I do have quite a green thumb.”
Jody frowned. “It’s hardly the same thing as a florist shop. I don’t know if you’d enjoy it.”
“I’m a country squire at heart,” Cyril reminded him. “Never chose to move to London. Finances dictated it. I assure you I would be quite happy to live in nature again, particularly if we can get a dog.”
“Oh no. There I draw the line. No dogs! You bring home a stray and see how quickly our partnership ends,” Jody joked.
“Funny lad. We’ll see about that.” Cyril pulled his hair. “Are we in agreement, then? Shall we see what sort of properties are available to two fellows of limited means?”
Jody sat up as if energized and ready to spring from the bed that very minute. “If you’re sure. I wouldn’t mind taking a look.”
Cyril leveled a serious gaze. “I’m sure. It will be a new sort of life for both of us to discover together.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Upstate New York, Two Years Later
“Hurry up with those boxes, Gus. We need to get the cart filled so we can get on the road. Our customers will be waiting.”
A large boy with fists the size of hams and muscles a stevedore would envy hoisted several boxes of flowers on each arm and brought them to the wagon. Jody took each tray of cheerful orange marigolds and placed them on the shelves he’d built so the wagon would hold more stock. One day soon, they’d have to buy another wagon, but for now, a once-a-week drop-off from the fully loaded cart was sufficient.
“You remember your tasks for today?” Jody asked his hired hand.
Gus squinted and scratched his forehead, leaving behind a dirty streak. “Dig potatoes in the north field. Fix the steam pipe in Mr. Cyril’s greenhouse.”
“That’s right. Good lad.”
Gus was not bright, but loyal and hardworking once he knew what was expected of him. Too many blows to the head had knocked him silly. It was over a year since Jody had rescued him from a life of bare-knuckle boxing. At only fourteen, the lad had been as bruised, broken, and worn as a fighter who’d spent his life in the ring. Fresh air and fa
rm labor soon restored his health, but the poor fellow would never be quite right in the head.
Gus beamed at Jody’s commendation. “I’ll take care of the farm real good, but, Mr. Jody, if I finish my chores early, can I go fishing?”
“Sure thing. Catch one for me, won’t you?”
Another brilliant grin. “Biggest catfish I can hook. I promise.”
Jody fastened the tarp over the load of flowers with Gus helping on the opposite side of the cart. When the canvas was secure, Gus bid Jody goodbye and plodded toward the north field with a burlap bag in one hand and a shovel over his shoulder.
Cyril’s mangy mutt, Grendel, burst out of the woods where she’d been having her own adventures and trotted alongside Gus. The scrappy whippet was humorously tiny compared to the towering boy, but they were the best of friends. Cyril sometimes complained that Gus had stolen his little girl’s heart away from him when he arrived on the farm.
Cyril. As he climbed on the buckboard and slapped the reins to start the horse moving, Jody found himself foolishly smiling. How long would this glow of pure joy fill him at the mere thought of his beloved friend? Had to wear off someday, didn’t it? A man couldn’t go through life this damn happy.
Something awful will happen. A bad storm will destroy the crops. You’ll lose the land and become destitute. He’ll get tired of you and leave, or he’ll die. You’ll be alone again. The niggling voice of worry sounded very much like Lassiter. For the most part, Jody had learned to banish those evil whispers with a simple, But not today. This day, Cyril is alive and well and all mine.
He looked toward the yellow-painted farmhouse, its porch rail brightened by flowers in hanging boxes Jody had built. Upstairs, three garret windows caught the morning sunlight and reflected its blinding glare into his eyes. That was the reason he squinted and dashed away tears. It wasn’t the sight of Cyril waiting for him in the front yard.
Jody pulled Bess to a stop and Cyril clambered up beside him. “House is ship-shape and in Daisy’s care. That girl has been a godsend as far as keeping up with the laundry, and her cooking is getting a little better.”
