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Isaac realized with a start the intimacy in the way he had grasped Lenert’s hand, and went to pull back, but Lenert held on. The warmth and strength of his grasp sent shivers of pleasure through Isaac’s body. He gazed into Lenert’s eyes and was thrilled by the emotion he saw there. He wanted so much to lean forward, to kiss Lenert and feel his lips, but he forced himself to move slowly.
He had extended his hospitality to the man, and it would be wrong to push himself forward as a lover when what Lenert needed most was a place to rest and recuperate. Isaac enjoyed their moments of intimacy, their bodies touching each other in bed, and he was afraid that if he moved too quickly he would lose that.
He was at war with himself, too. He had sworn to live alone after Stephen left him, to never again leave himself vulnerable to the pain of another’s rejection. He had enjoyed his solitude on the canal, seeing new meaning in every sentence of Mr. Thoreau’s work. He loved his quiet evenings reading by lamplight, the simple routine of his chores.
Lenert had brought new dimension to his life. Someone to care for, a helper when Isaac was tired, a companion when the day was long. Could it be that he had read Mr. Thoreau wrong? As far as he knew, Thoreau was a single man. Was that because he did not like women?
Thoreau had written a poem called “Sympathy,” about an eleven-year-old boy he had hiked and sailed with one summer, and one line of it resonated with Isaac. “I might have loved him, had I loved him less.”
To Isaac, the line seemed to mean that Thoreau had loved the boy so much that he refused to taint that affection with anything physical. In a way, that was how he felt about Lenert. He liked the affable Prussian, and they had developed both a friendship and an easy rhythm together. To move their relationship to the physical might be to spoil it.
One of the pleasures of having Lenert there was the ability to share the joy he took in nature. One Sunday when Isaac was sure there would be no more barges, he asked Lenert to come walk with him in the woods.
He pushed aside a screen of oak branches and moved forward down a narrow path, the sound of birds chirping above, and a bee’s buzz. They worked their way past more low bushes and vines, until they reached a patch of wild blackberry and raspberry canes, bursting with fresh, vibrant fruit. Isaac carried a basket which he and Lenert quickly filled with ripe berries, though they ate almost as many as they put aside.
“My mother, she make jam from berries like these,” Lenert said.
“Can you show me?” Isaac said. “It would be good to have jam for the winter.”
They continued through the woods, their arms and legs scraped by branches, searching for more fruit. “In the fall there will be nuts to collect,” Isaac said.
Would Lenert even be there in the fall? Isaac took a deep breath. When he was a child, and he worried about problems at school, or something in the future, his father always cautioned him to take one day at a time. “Our lives are in the Lord’s hands,” his father often said. “He will provide for us.”
Had the Lord sent Lenert to him? Isaac believed that to be true. As they moved from deep woods into sunny clearings, he marveled at the work the Lord had done to provide all this bounty and knew that the Lord must have had a hand in Lenert’s arrival in his life as well.
The previous lock-keeper had left a number of glass jars behind, and that evening Lenert showed Isaac how to boil the fruit with sugar, stirring it occasionally until it thickened, and Isaac was impressed at yet another skill the Prussian had. The kitchen area was small, and they often had to pass each other, shoulders touching, hips bumping. Once Isaac had to squeeze past Lenert between the table and the counter, and his groin passed tantalizingly close to Lenert’s butt, so close Lenert’s warmth seeped through his pants.
“Sorry,” he said, as he grabbed a couple of jars.
Lenert turned from the firelight, his face aglow. “Is nice,” he said.
Isaac lit a thick candle when darkness fell, so they could finish the last batch of jam. Warm light illuminated the cottage, throwing shadows on the walls. It was so comfortable there, with the delicious smell rising from the stove, and Isaac’s heart soared with hope and love.
That night Isaac did not move slowly toward Lenert in the bed, but moved like a chess piece, all at one go. Lenert snuggled back toward him, pushing his buttocks against Isaac’s jack, which began to unfurl. Embarrassed, Isaac tried to retreat, but Lenert reached back and held his shoulder, keeping him in place.
The sensation of his cock as it stiffened against the cleft of Lenert’s ass was sweet agony. The way they seemed to fit together so perfectly only spurred his desire. His heart raced and blood sped through his veins, knowing it would only take a few movements to spend against Lenert’s warm body. Instead, they lay together, peaceful on the surface, all the while temptation and trepidation warred in Isaac.
It would have taken only a few movements to cause him to spend, but neither of them did anything further.
* * *
BARGE TRAFFIC WAS ALWAYS slow in the heat of the summer, as the mules could only pull so far without suffering from exhaustion. The next morning was a hot day, and Lenert helped Isaac tend the small garden behind the cottage. In the spring, Isaac had planted lettuce, tomatoes, corn, and beets, and built a fence around them to keep away the rabbits and the deer. Isaac pulled open the fence and squatted beside the bed, tugging weeds carefully out by the roots, and Lenert brought a hammer and nails from the house and repaired a few spots where the fence had torn.
They worked easily together, fingertips touching as Isaac handed a bunch of weeds to Lenert. With Isaac on the ground, he had a fine view of Lenert’s ass as he bent to his task, and then, when he stood, the way his half-hard cock hung to the side of the tight short pants.
While Lenert finished clearing up, Isaac brought a pitcher of water to irrigate the roots, and Lenert stood quickly as he passed. Some of the water sloshed against Lenert’s shorts, highlighting the stiffness of his cock, and Isaac’s pulse raced.
Lenert seemed embarrassed and pulled quickly at the fabric, and then hurried inside. Isaac watched him go, wishing he had just stripped the shorts off and hung them out to dry. But men did not spend the day in their undershorts, at least not the kind of men that Isaac knew.
Most of the other lock-keepers were married men, with wives who managed daily activities while the husbands took care of the physical work. Isaac had done it all himself, and he was relieved to have help with the garden and keeping the cottage clean. As Lenert gradually became more adept at walking with his stick, Isaac was surprised at how much he appreciated Lenert’s help.
Over the next few days, they continued their intimacy. They held hands by the water’s edge when there was no barge traffic, and slept nestled beside each other. Though he was aware of the stiffness of Lenert’s peter, and knew the Prussian had to see the same in him, neither of them made a move toward anything more intimate.
The following Sunday, some three weeks after Isaac’s visit to Doctor Munroe’s surgery, Mrs. Alice Pennington, the woman he had seen there, arrived at the lock in a black horse-drawn cart with her daughter Charity beside her.
She wore a severe black dress and a black cap and looked like she and Charity had come directly from the Quaker Meeting in Stewart’s Crossing.
“I hope we do not impose,” Mrs. Pennington said, as Isaac took her hand to help her step out of the cart.
“Not at all, Madam,” Isaac said. “It is my pleasure to welcome you.” Then he turned and offered his hand to Charity. “And you as well, Miss Pennington.”
Charity was a slim young woman with a long, narrow face. Isaac had seen her a few times, always at the meeting, sitting demurely beside her widowed mother.
Lenert came out of the cottage then, and Isaac said, “May I present Mr. Lenert...” He realized that even after all their time together he didn’t know the man’s family name.
“Tessmer,” Lenert said.
“Mr. Lenert Tessmer, who has come to us from Prussia to work as a bargeman on the canal. He broke his leg, as you can see, and has been staying with me while he recovers.”
Lenert bowed to the ladies as Isaac introduced them. Mrs. Pennington appeared surprised at Lenert’s short pants, though she had to understand why he wore them.
“I looked for you at the meeting this morning,” Mrs. Pennington said to Isaac. “After our encounter at Doctor Munroe’s surgery I realized you must be quite lonely out here all on your own. When I discussed the matter with Charity, she believed it was imperative for us to pay you a visit and relieve the tedium of your loneliness.”
“That is most kind of you,” Isaac said. “Though so many barges pass by there is little opportunity for socializing.”
He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do to entertain the two ladies. He had only two chairs at his table, only two mugs for tea. Fortunately, Charity lifted a basket from the carriage and said, “We thought it would be kind to bring you a small picnic.” She looked at Lenert and added, “Though we did not realize you had a guest, as well.”
Lenert clearly understood the dynamics. “I have only little English,” he said. “I allow your conversation.” He bowed stiffly once more and then retreated into the house.
Isaac was aggrieved that Lenert could not join them, but he worried Lenert was embarrassed at the way he often had to stop and ask Isaac for the right word or refer to the dictionary. Isaac knew Lenert was intelligent and was sorry that the ladies wouldn’t have a chance to see that.
“Could you help me spread the cloth?” Charity asked Isaac.
They chose a flat, grassy spot with a view of the canal and spread out an old muslin sheet on the ground. Isaac was intrigued at how his body did not react from working with Charity—certainly nothing like it did when he and Lenert did a task together.
“I understand you are a college man,” Mrs. Pennington said, as she settled herself on the ground, her long black dress swirled out beside her like the tail of an evil mermaid. “What brings you out to this remote location?”
“It was a book,” Isaac said. He struggled to find a way to express his affection for Walden. “About a love of nature.”
“Charity is a great reader,” Mrs. Pennington said.
Isaac turned to her. “Have you read Mr. Thoreau? Walden or a Life in the Woods?”
“My mother flatters me. I find great solace in the Bible,” Charity said, looking down at her lap.
The conversation continued downhill from there. The Penningtons had brought simple food—plain grain bread, a salad of fresh-picked greens, and a hard-boiled egg for each of them. For dessert, there was a small tart made with dried apples, and each of the women only took a tiny slice. It was clear to Isaac that they were not wealthy people, and he appreciated the effort they had made to create this picnic.
It was also clear that Mrs. Pennington had come out into the countryside for one purpose—to engineer a connection between her quiet daughter and the college-educated lock-keeper.
A connection of no interest to Isaac.
Eventually they had satisfied themselves and run out of conversational topics. “It has been a great pleasure to have visitors on such a lovely Sunday,” Isaac finally said. “But I am afraid I must allow you to commence your return journey before darkness falls, and I have certain chores to attend to as well.”
“Surely you do no work on the Lord’s Day,” Mrs. Pennington said.
“The Lord understands the need to keep commerce moving on the canal,” Isaac said. “Or at least I hope he does. During the week, I am quite busy and small chores mount up.”
“At least you will be able to retire to town eventually,” Charity said.
“Excuse me?”
“Once the railroads take over the work of transporting goods,” Charity said. “Mother’s cousin is an investor in railroad shares, and he has spoken so highly of the industry. Did you know that the railroads are our nation's largest employer outside of agriculture?”
Isaac had no knowledge of business and was a bit surprised that a young Friend would be involved in such things, but he said nothing.
“Mother has placed all the money left to us by my father in those shares, which we have heard increase in value constantly. Our cousin visited us last week and spoke at great length about the sacrifice of the mules, who are God’s creatures after all, and how the railroad will relieve them of their onerous duties.”
Resentment rose in Isaac at the implicit argument that he, and by association all those who worked on the canal, took advantage of the beasts. “I make it my business to be sure that the mules who pass this lock are given food and water as they need,” he said. “And as I’m sure you believe, they were put here on this earth to serve man, and it is our duty to take care of them in return.”
Mrs. Pennington rose from the muslin sheet with some difficulty. “Mr. Evans is correct, Charity,” she said. “Evening approaches, and we must return to town.”
Isaac had hoped the Penningtons would leave behind the leftover food, so he could share it with Lenert, but they packed up the few slices of bread, a handful of nuts and half the apple tart in Charity’s basket. He helped both ladies into the carriage and then watched them head down the towpath toward Stewart’s Crossing.
If they hoped that he would marry Charity, they hoped in vain.
